


Only You

by treasurethelittlethings



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Adult Entertainment Industry, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, D/s themes, Dominant, Dramione Fanfic, Dramione Fanfiction, F/M, Fluff, Hermiones just pure frustrated, NSFW, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Sexual Tension, Smudge of angst, Smut, Submissive, but i promise it'll all make sense lol, dash of hate sex, dramione - Freeform, dramione Only Fans AU, dramione fic, no magic, sexual chemisty, soft dom draco, well kinda a plot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-02
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-13 12:34:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 29,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29153640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/treasurethelittlethings/pseuds/treasurethelittlethings
Summary: A Dramione Only Fans AUDraco Malfoy and Hermione Granger are both 'For Your Pleasure' content creators on a social media app for the adult entertainment industry.When Hermione loses her orgasm, she goes to Draco for help. But will he accept? And if he does, will their respective feelings get in the way of everything they've ever known?
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 64
Kudos: 152





	1. Chapter One

Keys? Check.  
Phone? Check.  
Purse? Check.  
Angel wings? Check. 

Standing staring at her reflection in the hanging mirror beside the front door, Hermione Granger toyed with the straps of her black costume angel wings until they sat comfortably on her shoulders. 

Spinning this way and that, Hermione checked the rest of her outfit, making sure she looked presentable for a fancy dress party, from every angle. A pink satin dress sat draped over her curves, with two thin straps holding it up and a black lace trim decorating the bottom. A pair of sheer black stockings covered her legs and a pair of black stiletto Louboutins completed the outfit. 

Glancing down, Hermione admired how the stilettos boosted her height. The heels gave her a good five or so inches, taking her from a rather small 5’2 to at least 5’7, on a good day. The pair of shoes did wonders for her self esteem – elongating her legs and giving her the air of a woman not to be messed with. 

Her notorious riot of curls had been tamed as best as she knew how to – the brunette curls with honey highlights passing through the strands, sat heavy, like a waterfall, down her back. As usual, Hermione had kept her makeup to a minimum, choosing instead to enhance her natural features. Shimmery pink eye shadow decorated her lids, with lashings of mascara to make her already big doe eyes stand out even more. The blush and bronzer combo artfully applied around her cheekbones helped bring out the golden tone of her sun kissed skin, but not too much as to wash her out. 

Unscrewing the lid from her lip gloss, Hermione delicately applied another layer, careful to not go outside the line of her full lips, and adding an extra sparkle to her ensemble. Once happy, Hermione placed the lip gloss tube into her handbag – keeping it close, in case she needed a top up throughout the evening. Before long she had locked her flat door behind her, walked carefully down the stairs so as not to trip, and was out on the brisk streets of London. 

Hermione’s usual route took her about eight minutes to reach the tube station, and tonight was no different. Her heels click clacked against the concrete pavement, and Hermione cursed the March British weather as the wind blew in her direction. It made her hair fly up and out of place from where she’d so painstakingly tucked it behind her ears. And without a coat (god, knows she’d tried to wear a jacket, but it wouldn’t have fit over the bloody angel wings, so she’d given up trying anymore and left it at home), the gust of cold air made goosebumps erupt all over her bare skin. To fight the cold, Hermione stepped up her strides, trying to get to blood pumping faster and warm herself up. 

As the light from the tube station appeared up ahead, Hermione’s phone chimed from inside her handbag. Knowing she wouldn’t get any signal the moment she walked underground, Hermione stood in front of a darkened shop window and fished her mobile phone out. 

The screen flashed brightly, showing Hermione a text notification. 

**Raven Haired Slag [9:34pm]** where u at? Xxxx

Hermione tapped out a message to her best friend, Pansy Parkinson, as quickly as her cold fingers would allow. 

**Tiny Tits [9:35pm]** getting on tube now b there in 5 xxxx

Putting her mobile safely back inside of her handbag, Hermione gripped the handrail – taking pains not to think about how many people must have touched the metal and how many germs were left behind. 

For somebody wearing sky high stilettos, Hermione was surprisingly fast. Striding past the crumbling walls with gum stuck to them and water trickling down the sides, Hermione scanned her oyster card and stood in the drafty tunnel waiting for the tube to arrive. As it was a Friday night, there appeared to be a large amount of people waiting around and Hermione could feel eyes boring into the back of head and travelling down her body as they took in her revealing outfit. 

A fair few times Hermione caught their eyes perusing her body, and holding her head up high, she held their gaze until they became sheepish and averted their eyes. A well do to man in a suit (why was it always men in suits?) was the only one stupidest enough to actually strike up a conversation with her. 

“You do know Halloween has been and gone, don’t you?” He joked. 

Hermione didn’t crack a smile at his terrible joke, choosing instead to slowly look him up and down. 

“The tube shouldn’t be much longer,” he tried again. This time shifting his leather briefcase to his other hand and bringing his left hand up his face to read the time on his very expensive watch. 

Hermione rolled her eyes at his very apparent attempt to impress her. 

“Everybody knows the tube is always late by a few minutes,” she muttered under her breath. 

“Very true,” he nodded. He said nothing else, and Hermione expected him to move away and stand elsewhere. Rather, he waited beside her, the overpowering smell of his aftershave filling her nostrils. 

The tube carriage rattled along its tracks, signaling its arrival. It halted to a stop and Hermione waited off to one side as the double doors opened and the passengers inside poured out. Quick as a flash, Hermione boarded the carriage closest to her, making a beeline for an empty seat. The businessman unfortunately followed after her, claiming the seat to her right and turning his body in towards hers as if he was going to lean in and tell Hermione a secret. Without a phone, newspaper, or book, Hermione was unable to turn her attention away from him and essentially give him a blatant sign that she wasn’t interested. 

Instead, she settled for reading the posters above the seats as the doors closed, and the tube rattled onwards towards their next destination. 

“Are you single?” He asked suddenly, making Hermione jerk her head towards him. 

His eyes bounced from her face to the sight of her ample chest, which was spilling slightly over the top of her dress. 

“No, I’m not,” she lied. 

His eyes strayed to hers, before moving back to her breasts. Pansy was going to have a field day, when Hermione told her this story. 

“Your boyfriend lets you go out looking like that?” 

Hermione gritted her teeth. Oh, yes, Pansy was going to have a field day, but only if Hermione didn’t strangle the man and end up in prison before she could tell her best friend the tale. 

“Yes, he does,” she said, hating the fact she had to lie about having a fake boyfriend, just so this leech would back off. Why wasn’t it enough in the 21st century, for her to just politely say she wasn’t interested rather than lie about already having a partner? “And even if he didn’t, I’m my own woman. I can do what I want, when I want, with who I want.” 

Hermione could feel her rage rash, as Harry had so aptly named it; begin to crawl over her chest and up her neck. It most likely brought more attention to her chest, and Hermione exhaled loudly through her nose in defeat. 

It wasn’t that Hermione was ashamed of her body. Oh, far from it. Working in the adult entertainment industry had, so far, taught Hermione a number of things. For one thing, it had taught her how to be more confident and self assured in her own skin. 

As all teenagers going through puberty, Hermione’s body had begun to change. At first, just small things like a few under the skin spots, issues that other people wouldn’t notice. Her breasts and curves, however, had seemed to grow overnight. One day she’d been as straight up and down as a pole, and the next day she’d grown into a woman’s body. The changes had been hard to adjust to. For the first time in her life, she’d experienced her own body, feeling alien to her. The clothes she had once worn no longer fit, and if by some miracle they did fit, the material clung in all different manner of places. And her new body seemed to be attracting the attention of the male species. 

While they leered at her and her clothing, or asked her a question while blatantly staring down her chest, all Hermione had wanted to do was hide herself away from them all. 

Her small stature didn’t help things at all. While all the other girls her age shot up like beanstalks, growing into their bodies, Hermione stayed pretty much the same height. Rather than help hide it, her petite height amplified the curves and contours of her figure. 

Until she’d started posting on the For Your Pleasure website, Hermione could honestly say, she’d been very insecure about the way she looked. Past relationships and the way other girls had treated her at school, hadn’t helped in the slightest. From the age of 16, the girls had called Hermione terrible names, both to her face and behind her back. They’d accuse her of sleeping with their cheating boyfriends, or sending nudes to all the boys in the school – including the male teachers. 

Ex’s hadn’t helped the matter. Most of time Hermione had shied away, hiding her body, scared incase her partner had chosen to simply stay with her because of the way she looked and not what was on the inside. The ex’s in question, eight times out of ten, proved her right and the two of them would end up breaking up because of their unresolved issues.

For Your Pleasure had given Hermione a new found sense of confidence, which was only amplified by the amazing professionals she got to work with on a frequent basis. Everybody knew collaborations on For Your Pleasure got the most views, making it a win win situation for every party involved. From the get go, Hermione had been up for filming collaborations and so far, each of the men and women she’d worked with had been nothing but professional while also, making her feel very comfortable in herself, at the same time. 

These men in particular had shown Hermione how she should be treated, and from then on Hermione had learnt how much worth she really had. 

Way too much worth for the sweaty businessman sitting beside her. 

Hermione said nothing else, choosing instead to avert her eyes and wiggle around to get comfy on the hard plastic seat. The protruding angel wings on her back certainly didn’t help matters. 

The tube sped on, past two stops, before it was Hermione’s chance to break free from the stuffy compartment. The arrogant businessman offered her no pleasant goodbye as she exited, something, which Hermione was entirely grateful for. She wasn’t sure she could have held herself accountable for her actions, if he’d so much as glanced in her direction again. 

It was obvious, just by looking around, that this was a much richer part of London than the one Hermione had left behind. The architecture of the buildings was grander, as if they’d been constructed with lords and dukes in mind. Expensive shops lined one of the streets Hermione turned down – Mulberry, Kate Spade, Harvey Nichols, and Selfridges. If it was possible, even the pavements themselves appeared to be cleaner, free from sticky chewing gum and empty crisp packets.

If you were unsure where you were going, it would have been easy to miss the right hand turn Hermione took. The neighbourhood looked like a carbon copy of all the others before it and after it, large white stone walls with pillars either side and a patent black door set in the middle. 

The people who lived here were rich - it was easy to tell. Bankers, Lawyers, Doctors. Or simply people who were made from old money, which had been passed to them through the generations. 

Nobody would have guessed that behind number 77 lay a party, or that the person who lived there was a male For Your Pleasure creator. And if they did, they sure would have fainted in shock.

Up the steps, Hermione knocked loudly on the door twice before it swung open. From outside, she hadn’t been able to hear a peep, but with the door now open, loud music and hubbub of chatter met her ears. 

Dean Thomas leaned against the old wooden doorframe, dressed as what appeared to be a pirate, with a bottle of rum in his hand. “Hey, good looking,” he slurred. 

Hermione rolled her eyes as she pushed past him, exhaling as she felt the warmth of the house envelope her. 

“I see you’re already sloshed, Dean.”

Dean smiled easily, his eyes glazed over as he took stock of her choice of costume. “Do you wanna be my tinkerbell…” He hiccupped. “To my captain hook?”

Hermione raised one of her eyebrows independently. “I bloody well don’t. I’m an angel not a fairy, you twat. Now give me that bottle.” Taking it out of his grasp, Hermione took three large swigs of the dark bitter liquid without so much as pulling a face. Once she’d had her fill, she pushed the glass bottle back into Dean’s capable hands. “Do you know where Pansy is?” 

Dean thought too long and hard about a question, which should have been easy to answer. In the end, he waved his hand in a vague gesture towards the inside of the house. “Sofa?” He mumbled, not sounding very sure. 

Hermione nodded her thanks and set off on her search to find her best friend. 

Surprisingly, Dean had been correct. Pansy, dressed as a slutty witch, with broom included, sat perched on the arm of one of the posh brown suede sofas that sat in the center of what was either the sitting room or the drawing room (Hermione wasn’t very sure whether there even was a difference between the two room). She was busy talking to Susan Bones and nursing her favourite alcoholic beverage, a pornstar martini cocktail. Hermione snuck up on the two women, grasping Pansy by the waist, as she got close enough. 

“Boo!”

Pansy let out a squeal before realising who it was and wrapping her long arms around Hermione’s neck. 

“Where on earth have you been?” Pansy asked. 

“Tube was running late and then there was some man trying to chat me up… pass me your drink and I’ll tell you all about it.” 

Pansy smirked, passing Hermione her cocktail, which Hermione swallowed whole as is it was a shot. “So, he comes and stands right next to me…”

\----- 

If Hermione was honest, she didn’t know the reason why Blaise Zabini had chosen to hold a fancy dress party at the end of March. Nor had she seen the host to ask him the question herself.

From floor to rafters, the London townhouse appeared to be full of people. Some of which Hermione knew, either having the pleasure to work with them on particular scenes or just by running in the same circles as one another. 

A number of people had stopped by the sofa where Hermione had firmly plonked her arse, to say hello. Some had stayed, choosing to drink themselves merry with her and Pansy. While others drifted off after a while in search of another refreshment or a friend they’d seen in the crowd. 

“Have you seen him yet?” Daphne Greengrass asked, kissing Pansy and then Hermione, square on the lips in greeting as she took a seat. 

“Seen who?” Hermione asked, nosily slurping the last dregs of her drink. A top up would be in order sometime soon. 

“Seen who?” Daphne scoffed. “Oh, I forget you’ve only been running in our circles for two years…”

Hermione turned to Pansy with a most confused expression about her face. “What is Daph going on about?” 

“Draco Malfoy’s back.” Pansy stated matter of factly. 

“Draco who?” 

“Malfoy,” Pansy said. “He’s finally back from France, for good this time as well, I think. That’s why darling Blaise had thrown this party, to welcome him back.” She turned her face back up towards Daphne. “And in answer to your question Daph, no, I haven’t seen him yet. If I don’t get to see him tonight, I’m sure we’ll organize lunch, or something.” 

“Is he an entertainer then?” Hermione asked simply, thinking it a good thing to ask. 

Daphne let out a peal of laughter. She continued to laugh so hard; Hermione wouldn’t be surprised if the bubbles from her champagne were fizzing up her nose. 

Pansy gave her best friend a sweet smile and patted her stocking covered knee. 

“Yes, of course, he makes For Your Pleasure content like us, Hermione. He left for France before you’d starting posting anything and before any of us had even got the chance to know you. So, you won’t have run into him before.” 

“Why did he leave England for France?” Hermione asked, inquisitively. 

Pansy shrugged. “Draco and I go well back. I’ve told you before about how I knew Blaise and Theo when we were all still in nappies?” 

Hermione nodded, tilting her head closer to Pansy to be able to hear her clearly over the surrounding noise. 

“I knew Draco, too. Our Mothers are good friends, running in the same ladies who lunch circles. But, he never told me why he had decided to leave. Draco just told me one afternoon he was leaving, and he’d stay in contact as much as possible, and the next thing I knew, he’d gotten on a plane and taken off.”

“How strange,” Hermione muttered. “Is he nice?” 

Pansy smiled widely, showcasing her lovely white teeth. “Very. We could organize lunch together and you could come with. Give you the chance to meet him.” 

Hermione stood up from the sofa, her knees cracking as she did so. The room swam a little bit from the amount of vodka she’d ingested, making the portraits dotted around the walls look like they had been positioned sideways. Hermione gripped Susan Bone’s shoulder to steady herself, as she blinked hard, twice, and tried to put her vision to rights. 

“Sounds like a plan, Pans. Just tell me when and where.” Hermione shook her empty glass, making the ice cubes jingle against the sides. “Right, I’m off for another refill. Anybody want anything?” 

Pansy stood too, linking her arm through Hermione’s. “I’m gonna pop to the loo, but make me another cocktail, will you? And I’ll meet you in the kitchen.” 

Swaying partially on their heels, Hermione and Pansy walked out of the living room and then separated whilst in the hallway. Hermione watched amused as Pansy gripped tight hold of the bannister and walked up the stairs on unsteady legs. Once Hermione knew her friend was in no risk of slipping, falling down the steep stairs and breaking her swanlike neck, she turned around, making her way towards the kitchen area.

Just like the rest of the townhouse, the kitchen was crowded with tightly packed bodies. Some raiding the cupboards for food or drink, others dancing around to the beat of the music, and snogging anybody in sight. 

With a few well times ‘excuse me’s’, Hermione was able to squish herself through the throng, (a difficulty in its own right, but especially with a pair of wings protruding from her shoulder blades) and reach the marble island in the center, which hosted a variety of different coloured bottles. Each of these bottles had a different level of liquid still left inside of them, depending on which ones had been most frequented. It was just Hermione’s luck that there was the right amount of vanilla vodka and orange juice left to make two pornstar martinis complete with a slice of passion fruit on top of each drink. 

Just as Hermione was about to pick up both glasses from the stems, a figure bumped into her side. Knocking her angel wings off center, while also spilling half of the sticky orange juice all over the counter. Hermione watched in horror as the liquid slid steadily to the end of the island and began to drip onto the hardwood floor, creating one hell of a mess. 

“Shite, sorry… oh, Granger, it’s you.” Hermione turned at the sound of the voice, finding Blaise standing in front of her with a cheeky grin about his beautiful face. “I was wondering if you’d turn up. We haven’t had the pleasure of seeing you all night.” 

Hermione stood with her hands on her hips, staring upwards at her ridiculously handsome friend. “You’ve made a mess.” 

Blaise’s face broke out into an even bigger grin than Hermione thought possible. “There she is, that hell cat of yours.” 

Hermione had met Blaise around a year into her becoming an adult entertainer. For the first couple months of making content, Hermione had kept herself to herself. It wasn’t until Pansy had reached out to her via Instagram DMs, that Hermione had ever talked to another creator who made money from the same website as she did. The women had exchanged mobile numbers, and from then on Hermione had found a best friend in a person she hadn’t even known existed. 

As an For Your Pleasure creator, Hermione did very well for herself just by creating content on her lonesome. But becoming friends with Pansy opened Hermione up to a whole new world of people and opportunities. Pansy had introduced her to a whole range of different people, of which, one of them had been Blaise Zabini. 

Unsurprisingly, she and Blaise had not much in common, but he’d suggested they get together on a couple of scenes. Until she found her own groove and as if was her first couple scene, Hermione had been happy to let Blaise take the reins and plan ahead of time how he would like their scenes to be shot. It hadn’t gone exactly to plan though, and before long, Hermione had been the one calling the shots as Blaise rammed into her from behind. Perhaps she wasn’t so happy for him to be in charge, after all. The nickname hellcat had been born due to the fire in Hermione, which Blaise had gotten the pleasure to meet and ever since the nickname had stuck like glue. 

Out of the crowd, Theo Nott appeared, taking his usual place beside his best friend. “Don’t mind him, Hermione, I’ll make sure he cleans up the mess.” He leant in to give her two kisses on either cheek and Hermione got a very pleasant waft of his expensive aftershave. “How are you?” 

Hermione drank in the sight of Theo as she lifted what liquid was left out of her pornstar martini, to her lips. Tall, always well dressed, and with a shock of deep chestnut brown hair that looked so soft you wanted to sink your hands into it, Theo Nott was the perfect boy next door (if not for his job, of course). 

“I’m good, thank you,” Hermione said. “So, what are you two supposed to be? We are, after all, at your costume party.”

“I’m Hugh Hefner,” Blaise replied, pulling apart the raspberry coloured coat he wore to display a specular pair of abs and nothing else underneath it. 

“Oh, of course,” Hermione nodded. “I suppose that’s why you haven’t seen me all night. You must have been too busy looking after your bunnies. And you, Theo?” 

Theo shrugged, somehow managing to look a little bit shy. “I’m not dressed up as anything. This party’s in celebration for Draco coming back to England, you know? And he really didn’t want to come, but Blaise insisted. So, I had to pretend to poor Draco that we were going out for dinner together. I couldn’t really pull off that lie, if I was dressed as a zombie, now could I?” 

“I suppose not.” Hermione finished her drink and placed the glass down onto the marble. “I’ll let you off the hook then. Where is your third musketeer, might I ask?” 

“Draco? Where you at mate?” Blaise raised his voice to be heard over the constant hum. “There’s someone we want you to meet… oh, here he is.” 

Hermione’s breath got stuck in her throat as the best looking man she’d had ever had the pleasure of seeing with her own two eyes, strode through the crowd as if they had parted for him. He stood on the other side of Blaise, completing the trio and stuck his large hand out in greeting. 

“Hello. I’m Draco Malfoy and you are?”


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione and Draco find they have a lot of things in common.   
> And Draco offers Hermione something she can't refuse.

God, I would let this man bend me over this island, flip up my dress and mount me in front of all these people and probably say thank you to him after he’d finished – was Hermione’s first thought, before her brain processed what Draco had said to her.

If she had to guess, Hermione would have put Draco at about 6’2 with a shock of platinum blonde hair, which could only be natural. His face was angular, with prominent cheekbones and a sharp jawline. He wasn’t close enough for Hermione to pick out his eye colour, but she would place a bet that it would be a colour as beautiful as the rest of him. 

Like Theo, Draco was well dressed. A starched shirt sat underneath a bottle green suit jacket, which enhanced the colour of his hair. Pressed black slacks covered his legs with a pair of leather dress shoes to complete the whole outfit. 

This man reeked of money, the old kind, to be exact. His suit jacket and trousers had quiet obviously been tailored to his exact taste and measurements. All of it looked good quality, expensive, even the fucking shoes on his feet. Definitely, none of the material was polyester, unlike the fake satin dress; Hermione had donned, which was full of the stuff. 

By god, he was fit. Even if he did have a ridiculously posh name like Draco, well… really she wasn’t one to talk. But, she could get past his poshness, if only because of how attractive he appeared. 

Hermione slipped her much smaller hand into his, and grasped enough to use his hand to steady herself, as she raised up on her tiptoes and kissed either side of his smooth cheeks.   
“Hermione Granger. Nice to meet you.” 

For a split second, Hermione was close enough to hear his jagged intake of breath. If she wasn’t much mistaken, Draco had just purposefully smelt the perfume she’d dotted behind her ears. 

“Pleasure is all mine,” Draco said, a smirk playing about around his soft looking lips. 

Blaise reached out to pull gently at a coil of her hair that hung past her breast. “Hermione, here, is our newest member of our little group. Pansy introduced her, and we’ve been as thick as thieves since.” 

“Ah Pans, of course.” Draco nodded and then focused his attention back onto the pretty pink angel in front of him. “How did you meet her?” 

Hermione batted away Blaise’s groping hand, which had accidently brushed against her hard nipple. “She saw a video of mine and Dmed me on Instagram to ask where I’d bought something in particular. I’d never spoken to another creator before, so we got talking and became best friends from there, really.” 

Draco bobbed in head in understanding. “Are you fairly new to the adult entertainment industry, then?” 

“She started just after you left,” Theo commented. In between Hermione and Draco introducing themselves to one another, Theo had acquired three green bottles of beer and was now busy fiddling with the bottle opener. With a small pop, he managed to wrangle off the metal lids, and passed two to Blaise. Blaise handed one to Draco, while he kept the other for himself. 

Hermione watched entranced as Draco raised the bottle to his lips, took a sip and swallowed. His Adam’s apple bobbed enticingly. In her mind’s eye, Hermione could imagine herself licking a stripe down his throat, before sucking a love bite into his flesh. Oh, how the purple colour of the bruise would stand out against the porcelain, almost translucent, colour of his skin.

Forcibly, Hermione had to blink hard to shock herself out of her vision, before she actually leaned over and did said actions. 

“You enjoy it then?” Draco asked, carelessly holding the neck of the bottle with loose fingertips. 

Hermione nodded, carding her hand through her hair to push back the unruly curls, which had sprung forward with the slight movement of her head. “It certainly pays much better than any other job I’ve ever had.” 

A genuine laugh pushed its way out of Draco’s throat. 

“Very true. What did you do before becoming a creator? Have you had many jobs?”

“So cliché I know, but I was a waitress in a café, before I started For Your Pleasure. It was one of those greasy spoon ones, you know? Where all the builders frequent? Other than the cafe, I worked in retail since I was 16.” 

As she spoke, Hermione noticed the way Draco sunk his teeth into his plush bottom lip. He listened to her intently, his eyes never straying from hers. Hermione felt as if the rest of the party had melted away into the background, until only she and Draco remained. 

“Anything beats working in retail, doesn’t it?” Draco’s fringe flopped into his face endearingly and Hermione’s finger’s burned to push it back from his forehead. “What does your family think of your sudden career change?” 

Hermione smiled to herself, knowing this was a familiar question, one that most people asked, even fellow For Your Pleasure creators. And it was one she could answer quickly and easily because there really wasn’t that much to say on the matter. 

Hermione shrugged. “Well, first, I’m an only child, so there really isn’t that many people to tell…”

“I’m an only child, too,” Draco said, smiling into the rim of his beer bottle. 

“Really? No wonder Blaise introduced us.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Knowing Blaise, it was probably one of the reasons, but not the only reason. Anyway, go on.” He gestured for her to continue. 

“Yeah, so, no brothers or sisters to tell. And, I’m pretty much estranged from my parents.” 

Both of Draco’s eyebrows rose up towards his hairline at her statement, but he uttered no words. 

“They sent me off to boarding school at 11. And when I was almost eighteen, before I’d finished school, they informed me that the two of them were emigrating to Australia. I guess I was invited to move with them, but I was never officially asked, for I declined the notion.” 

Hermione had told this story to so many different people over the past five years, that it no longer fazed her. Even to her ears, her voice sounded monotone – holding no real reflection of how she actually felt about the situation. However, it was the usual reaction of the person listening, which made Hermione feel like she needed a strong drink in her hand. Unfortunately, by now, the alcohol she’d consumed earlier on in the evening had disappeared out of her bloody stream – leaving her without the extra bit of confidence that liquid luck will allow. 

Hermione pressed her lips together tightly, a signal she had finished talking, and waited for Draco to ask the obvious questions. 

Are you still in contact with them? If they loved you as a daughter, why would they leave you in a country alone by yourself, not even yet a legal adult? Does it keep you up at night, wondering if they ever loved you as much as they said they did every night as a child, before you lay down your head and close your eyes?

To Hermione, the silence between the two of them felt like it existed for hours. In reality, it was only a couple of seconds, but nonetheless, Hermione felt her eyelid twitch as she waited for Draco Malfoy to open his mouth. 

“Which boarding school did you attend?” 

That… that was not the question Hermione had expected to be on his lips. 

She gulped dryly, not prepared with an answer. 

“One up in the highlands of Scotland. Me and my friends, used to call it the bum fuck middle of nowhere.” 

Draco snorted into his beer bottle, the huff of his breath vibrating against the glass and making a deep, hollow sound echo around their space. It certainly wasn’t a noise posh people like himself were supposed to make. Hermione found she liked him all the better for it. 

“My god. You need to teach me how to say shit like that with a straight face, Granger.” 

A smile began to etch its way over Hermione’s face, getting rid of her clouded expression as she thought about her parents. “So, you can tell wank yourself off and tell girls to squirt all over your cock, but you can’t say bum fuck of nowhere without laughing or smiling?” 

He laughed again, sounding as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “No, I can’t say it with a straight face, and frankly, I can’t believe you can. Well, if were going with it, I too, attending boarding school in the… the middle of nowhere, shall we say? It was in the north of France, actually.” 

“You’ve lived in France on and off for many years, then.” It was less of a question and more of a statement, but Draco still chose to elaborate. 

“Yes. I was born here in England, but my ancestors hailed from France. After I’d completed boarding school, I moved back home and only visited across the water sporadically. Until, I moved permanently two years ago, of course.” 

Hermione glanced over Draco’s shoulder to see Blaise attempting to do the splits. It was most likely going to end up in disaster, so Hermione pulled her attention away and focused back on the blonde Greek god in front of her. 

“Are you back in England for the foreseeable future? Or?”

Draco knocked back the rest of his drink before answering. He took a step forward towards the island, bringing him closer to Hermione as he set his empty bottle down on the marble countertop. The sleeve of his suit jacket brushed against Hermione’s bare forearm, making the minuscule hairs stand upwards. 

Hermione wished he would press against her, enough so she would be able to feel the heat of his body up against hers. But Draco had already moved away in the blink of an eye. 

“Yes, I’m back permanently. It’s nice to be around some old friends again and,” he smirked, “meet some new ones. We should meet up for coffee sometime next week. Perhaps we could organize filming a couple of scenes together, or something?” 

Hermione’s heart sank a little as she thought about his offer. Of course, a man like Draco would only be interested in filming a couple of scenes with her body and making some beneficial money for the two of them. She’d been silly, and perhaps still a tiny bit tipsy, to think any different. 

A deep breath and a mental shake of herself had Hermione shaking off her insecurities (she’d only just met the man, for god’s sakes) and building her confidence back up. Pansy would slap her silly if she knew Hermione’s inner voice right about now. 

Fixing a wide smile across her face, Hermione answered as pleasantly as she could manage. “Yes, yes, of course. Do you want my mobile number, and then you can just give me a shout when you’re free?” 

Putting his hand into one of the pockets of his slacks, Draco pulled out the latest mobile phone. Hermione waited as patiently as she could for him to pull up his contacts list and thumb her name in. 

“What is it?” He asked. 

Hermione reeled off her number by heart, watching the way Draco’s large hand made the phone look so small. He keyed in her number fast, saved her as a new contact, and then slipped it back where he’d found it. 

“I should…” Hermione began, pointing towards the exit of the kitchen. 

“Leaving so soon, Granger?” Theo questioned, throwing his arm over her shoulders. Hermione yelped slightly, as her hair got all caught up and tucked under uncomfortably. 

Blaise winked at her from where he’d moved back to Draco’s right hand side. “Told you our Hermione was a screamer.” 

“Oh, do shut up, Blaise,” Hermione retorted, sticking her tongue out at him, once she’d pulled her hair from under Theo’s heavy arm (with only a few strands caught in the casualty). “I was going to say, I should find Pansy and say my goodbyes. Then, I’ll be leaving.” 

“How are you getting home?” Draco queried. 

“You can’t go walking around to catch the tube at this time,” Theo chimed in. He did try to read the time off of his watch, nearly strangling Hermione in the process. It didn’t help, anyway. He was much too drunk to read the tiny numerals printed on the watch face. 

“I won’t,” Hermione assured him. “I’ll just text Harry to come and pick me up. No jumping on and off the tube, for me.” 

Theo and Blaise seemed happy enough with her answer. Draco’s appeared to still be a bit unsure and unhappy, but Hermione took that simply as not knowing him for long enough to be able to read his facial expressions. 

As she slipped out from underneath Theo’s heavy arm, Hermione waved goodbye to the three men and anybody else she knew. She leant against the staircase as she penned a quick text to her childhood best friend, Harry Potter, asking him if he was still up and running. While waiting for his reply, Hermione continued on in her search for Pansy. 

Miss Parkinson could be found half asleep on the sofa, with a soft looking blanket draped over her lower half (cashmere, if Hermione was very much not mistaken). 

“I’m just gonna sleep here,” Pansy muttered, her eyes still closed. “Is Harry coming for you?”

“Yes,” Hermione whispered.

Pansy searched the air blindly for her best friend’s hand, before finding it and patting gently. “See you later, Tits. Love ya.” 

Hermione bent down and smacked a kiss onto Pansy’s cheek. “Love ya, too.” 

Mobile phone buzzing in her hand, Hermione glanced down to see Harry was indeed awake. 

**Golden Bollocks [2:33am]** address??? Xxx

Hermione quickly typed in the street name, and postcode and hit send. 

**Golden Bollocks [2:34am]** b there in 10 xxx

With Harry on his way, Hermione did one last lap of the room saying her goodbyes and then ran to use the nearest loo. She’d just finished drying her hands on one of the fluffiest towels she’d ever felt when Harry text again to say he was parked outside. 

As quick as she’d entered, Hermione was slipping out of the front door, down the steps and into the passenger seat of Harry’s car. 

She sighed as the quietness of the car descended upon her, making Hermione more aware than ever of the ringing in her ears due to the sheer volume from the music and the chatter. 

“Is that even classed as a dress?” Harry’s voice broke her reverie, but she couldn’t find she minded. Especially not when Harry had driven all this way to come and collect her safely. 

Hermione smiled slyly at one of her oldest and dearest of friends. “It is in the lingerie section.” 

Harry turned his key in the engine, making the car thrum. “Seatbelt.” He waited until he heard the satisfying click and then carried on. “Molly would have a heart attack if she saw you dressed like that and yet, I think my own Mother would ask if she could borrow it.”

“I know she would, and that’s why your Mum is my favourite.” Bending down to reach the foot well, Hermione slipped one high heel off and then the other. She tipped her head back against the headrest and groaned at the sensation of being able to wiggle her toes freely. 

Harry’s eyes were firmly on the deserted road ahead of them as he drove in the direction of Hermione’s flat. “How was tonight? Any good?” 

“Mhm,” Hermione hummed. “Blaise held it as some sort of welcome home party for a friend of his, who has moved back after living in France for two years.” 

“And was everyone nice?” 

Hermione rolled her eyes at his antics. “Yes, Dad,” she mocked. “Everyone was lovely. Nobody tried it on with me.” 

Harry tutted under his breath and shivered. “I told you to stop calling me that, it gives me the creeps.” 

Hermione fluttered her eyelashes jokingly as she spoke. “You don’t like it, Daddy?” 

Harry cut her a look that could kill, before returning his attention solely to the road. “I will throw you out of this car right now, if you don’t stop.” 

The loudest laugh she’d let out all night, bubbled out of Hermione as she joked around. 

“I’m sorry, I know,” Hermione patted Harry’s jean covered knee. “You only ask because you care so much. And I love you for that, on top of many other reasons. Another of which, is because you will come and drop me off or pick me up at stupid o’clock.” 

And it was true. Harry and Hermione had become best friends in their first year of boarding school. Both only children and both facing school without the guidance of an older sibling or friend, Harry and Hermione had teamed up together. The two of them, along with their mutual best friend Ron, were inseparable. 

When Hermione’s parents had left her behind, it had been Harry who’d offered her a place to stay in the spare bedroom of his parent’s home. Having nowhere else to go, Hermione had sheepishly agreed and lugged her belongings to the Potter household. Rather than see her as a burden, James and Lily Potter had been more than happy to let her stay with them. The only thing the Potter’s asked for as compensation was for Hermione to help out with the family’s weekly chore list. 

All of the Potter’s, including Harry’s Godfather Sirius and his boyfriend, Remus, had been nothing but supportive of her when Hermione had announced she was going to start an For Your Pleasure page. It had taken a bit of explaining, a lot of which, Harry sat with his hands over his ears. But they’d been happy for her and wished her all the good luck in the world. With the small amount of money she’d managed to save up from retail jobs and waitressing gigs, Hermione was stable enough to find a place to live by herself at the age of 22. She found herself a small one bedroom flat, close enough to the Potter’s house but also with space to let her breath. 

None of the Potter’s ever pried, except for maybe Lily, but Hermione was more than happy to answer her questions over a glass of wine or two. They only wanted to know if she was safe in her job role, and when she nodded her confirmation, well, that was good enough for them. Harry included, he only ever wanted to know that his best friend was safe and not being preyed upon.   
Harry rolled the car to a slow stop in front of her building, and then killed the engine. Unbuckling his own seatbelt, he picked up Hermione’s heels and opened his car door. Hermione did the same, only a lot less elegantly. She hobbled across the tarmac, flinching as the tiny stones embedded themselves into the soles of her bare feet. Harry stood patiently beside the door, as Hermione fished for keys in her handbag and retrieved them with a flourish. A quick turn of the key had the door creaking open and in companionable silence, Harry and Hermione trekked up two flights of stairs to the front door of Hermione’s flat. 

She knew Harry was watching like a hawk to make sure she got home safely, so Hermione made a show of unlocking her door and then turning to face him in the doorway. 

Now at a much tinier height, due to the lack of heels, Hermione had to reach on her tiptoes to reach Harry’s stubbled cheek. “Thank you.” 

Harry passed her shoes over and embraced her into one quick hug. Hermione inhaled the scent of familiarity; the smell of the washing powder Lily used and of Harry’s body wash. 

“You’re very welcome. Text me in the morning, okay?” 

“I will. Goodnight.” 

“Night, H.”

Hermione knew Harry would continue to stand outside of her door, until he heard the lock click. So she locked the door behind herself and threw her keys into the bowel beside the door with a loud clang! Rather than turn on any of the lights, Hermione used the walls to guide herself as she walked from the living area to her bedroom. One by one, Hermione shed her clothes – emitting a content sigh as she flopped into the soft bed. Sleep called, and Hermione was more than happy to forget about everything she needed to get done, and just let her body sink.

At least for this moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi!
> 
> Is anybody reading this? I'm not sure lol but i'm still writing!
> 
> I do hoped you enjoyed this chapter. All kudos and comments are so well loved - thank you!


	3. Chapter Three

He shouldn’t. He really, really shouldn’t do it. 

She has a boyfriend, for God’s sake.

Draco’s mind ticked over as he sat upright in bed. After the day he’d had; settling back in, greeting people and the alcohol he’d consumed, Draco had believed he’d be able to switch off the hamster wheel of thoughts running through his mind and fall straight to sleep. 

But obviously not. 

His thoughts strayed back to Hermione Granger. 

Jesus, that woman. 

In more ways than one, Draco’s carefully curated group of best friends knew him too well. First, knowing he would decline, or should he say, point blank refuse to attend a fancy dress party, Theo had concocted a very clever ruse. Before Draco knew it, he’d been unceremoniously delivered to Blaise’s front door and shoved through into the hallway. Instead of being able to slip away into the shadows, and out through the front door, Draco found himself being greeted and hugged by strangers. Well, not strangers exactly, more like people he knew by name but not by face. But by no means, people he wanted to hang around with over the course of the evening. 

Second, Blaise and Theo had introduced him to a Miss Hermione Granger. Those two knew full well what they were doing. 

Draco had spotted the mysterious pink angel sitting on the sofa as he ducked and dived the drunken ramblings of Dean Thomas. She’d been immersed in conversation with Daphne, knocking back the clear liquid sitting in her martini glass. For a split second, he’d debated walking over and interrupting them, but thought better of it before his legs grew a mind of their own. 

Imagine his luck when Blaise called his name over the loud hum of the kitchen, and Draco strode through the throng of people to find the pink angel in front of him.

She stood there, looking innocent, as if she hadn’t realised predators surrounded her. 

Himself included. 

Draco would be more than happy to destroy her, no fee included. He wanted to bite his teeth into the soft flesh of her breast, which peeked over the edge of her skimpy dress. Bite down enough to elicit a gasp, or perhaps a scream if he was lucky, and to leave behind teeth marks. Draco’s fingers itched to wrap around her throat and feel her pulse thrumming like a butterfly’s wings. He’d wondered for a second if her long neck would taste as lovely as it looked, and when she kissed either side of his cheeks, Draco got his answer. Her perfume was the perfection combination of almond and vanilla, mixed in with the natural scent lying on her skin… Draco couldn’t help but take in a deeper breath and breathe her in. 

God, she smelt edible.

He would bet her cunt tasted just as good, if not better. 

Draco didn’t think she could get any more attraction, but then she opened her mouth and introduced herself. 

Hermione Granger. 

Her name rolled off of her tongue like the words were made of honey. 

As they talked, Draco came to realize how much in common the two of them had. She’d offered up an anecdote about her family life, and Draco had felt a pang in his heart at both the thought of his own personal life and the pain etched across her face, which Hermione quickly shrugged off. The pain she felt was a familiar ache to Draco’s, and so, much to Hermione’s surprise, he navigated the conversation onto a different topic. 

They’d continued to chat, with Draco feeling as if he’d known this girl before. His soul called her hers - asking it to come out and play. Time seemed to slip away through his fingers, and as Draco watched her talk, the way her lips curved around the vowels and her eyes sparkled as she laughed, he needed – just needed – to find time to speak to her again. Preferably, alone, the next time. 

The words were up and out of his mouth before he knew it. Draco himself, knew not if he was asking her out on a coffee date, planning to work with her, or, simply wanting to see the doe eyed woman laugh one more time. All he knew was he didn’t want tonight to be the last time he saw her. 

It was a damned good job he’d protected his heart, and tacked on the end of the sentence the lie about working together, for Hermione later revealed she had a boyfriend. Someone called Harry, something or other. Whether the two of them were serious or not, Draco couldn’t work out. But this Harry was obviously important enough for Hermione to warrant her safety with him. For she called him to pick her up from the party, without any debating that the lad might say no. 

Why was it, when you wanted a girl, they always already had a boyfriend? 

And what was it about already having a boyfriend, which made Hermione Granger seem even that much more irresistible to him?

Draco wondered for a moment how their relationship worked. Surely, it this Harry whatshisface were also an For Your Pleasure creator, then he would have been at Blaise’s party? Draco couldn’t remember ever being introduced to a Harry… so maybe he wasn’t a creator. 

Other men might be dissuaded against their girlfriend creating sexually explicit content, but Draco wasn’t and quite clearly neither was this Harry lad. In fact, there was something about knowing other men and women got off on watching your seriously fit girlfriend, but knowing they couldn’t have her in way possible. 

They didn’t get to kiss her softly and then hard, bruising her lips until they became red and puffy with evidence. They weren’t the ones who got to bury their fingers or their cock in her velvet heat and feel her cunt walls clamp down as her climax raced through her. They didn’t get to eat her out, sucking her hard bud like a boiled sweet and licking up the slick pouring out of her. They certainly didn’t get to hear her whispers of devotion late into the night, while she buried her head in the safe spot between shoulder and neck. 

Draco’s cock stirred in his pants, at the thought of running his fingers through Hermione’s folds and finding her wet and wanting for him. 

Pulling his laptop closer to him, Draco pulled up the For Your Pleasure website and typed Hermione’s name into the search bar. She popped up as the first option, a tiny round profile picture of Hermione suggestively licking a blue lollipop. Her banner photo showed Hermione lying on a bed, all the important parts covered (so as to not give anything away), with the golden hour sunlight hitting her bare skin in all the right places. It made her look ethereal. Draco wouldn’t be surprised to zoom in and find freckles dotting her shoulders and trailing down into her cleavage…

£5 was Hermione’s asking rate per month, and Draco happily clicked on the purple link to pop in his bank details. It took Draco less than a minute to key in his card information, which from the age of 11, he’d known off by heart and be granted access. Draco quickly scanned the stats at the top of the page, finding just over 200 videos and pictures had been uploaded. The most recent of which had been uploaded the day he’d arrived back on English soil from France, two days ago. 

Draco reached underneath the elasticated waistband of his joggers, grabbing his hard cock and pulling it out of his confines until he could touch himself unrestricted. While he squeezed the base of his cock with one hand, Draco’s other hand trailed over the laptop mouse, clicking on Hermione’s newest video. 

He stared, transfixed on the square screen as Hermione’s naked body popped up and he got his first look at her. She lounged on a bed, not too different from the bed in her banner picture. For a split second, Draco wondered if Hermione’s bed would smell of a mixture of perfume, shampoo and sex. He inhaled deeply, as if he could actually smell her scent again, and gave his cock a slow stroke. 

Propped up against the mountain of pillows, Hermione opened her legs, knees bent and feet flat on the blanket. Her breasts were bare, only a pair of light blue lacy knickers covered her sex. Draco licked his lips in anticipation, as he imaged lying on his stomach and dragging Hermione’s body down the bed until he could easily latch his mouth onto her folds. 

Draco swiped his thumb over the pearly bead of precome, which sat on the head of his cock. Using this as a form of lubrication, Draco twisted his hand around the base of his cock and then tugged in an upward motion. He continued wanking himself off at a leisurely pace, as Hermione pinched her own nipple with one hand and trailed the other down past her tummy button. 

Her fingertips skipped up and down over the gusset of her knickers, and the camera zoomed in enough for Draco to focus on the outline of her labia. Hermione whimpered, the sound kitten like through the screen. Draco’s attention momentarily flicked to her breasts – they were large for her small frame, accentuating her small, nipped in waist. Hermione’s areolas were a dusty pink, with rosy nipples standing to attention – just begging to be licked and sucked and bitten down upon. 

A tiny wet spot had formed in the center of Hermione’s knickers and Draco groaned out loud at the thought of her slit weeping. He twisted his wrist around his cock, making more precome spill from his slit in a mirror image of Hermione’s. 

Those nimble fingers of hers slid into her underwear on either side of her hips and pulled the offending garment down down down, until it disappeared from sight. Now Draco got to view her perfect cunt without any barrier in between. His teeth sunk almost painfully into his lower lip as he watched Hermione collect her own natural lubrication. She held that hand up to the camera lens, showcasing the silver strands connecting the two fingers, before plunging them into her mouth and moaning at the tangy taste of herself. 

Heat was beginning to pool in Draco’s stomach and lower back. Soon his balls would be drawing up and he’d be jizzing all over his own hand and freshly washed bedsheets. To stave off his impending orgasm, Draco applied light pressure to the center of his shaft, staying well away from his balls and resisting the urge to glide his thumb over the sensitive tip. 

Still on the screen, Hermione moaned louder this time. With her fingers throughly wet from her own arousal and her saliva, Hermione opened her legs wider to circle her clit. Draco knew she’d found the right spot, when her hips jerked off the bed as if they had a mind of their own. Her head tilted back into the pillows, her neck bared as she slipped her middle finger into her own heat. Draco moaned along with her, feeling his blood pump faster through his veins as he visualized crooking his own, much longer fingers, inside of Hermione. 

Draco closed his eyes, and focused on the sound of Hermione panting heavily and the squelching of her body as she fingered herself. Without looking, he had committed to memory the noises she made when her fingertips came into contact with her clit. These breathless gasps as her she threatened to tip herself over the edge. Draco wanted to steal those gasps in any way he knew how. Place his own large hand over Hermione’s and direct her fingers to touch herself, while sucking her tongue into his mouth and swallowing her pleasured sounds. Or, wrapping his hand around her pretty throat, applying pressure to either side – just enough to steal her breath away slightly and make her brain go all foggy. 

Draco couldn’t take much more of his own teasing. Blinking his eyes back open, he watched Hermione’s left hand pinch and pluck at her hard nipple, while the fingers on her right hand moved faster and faster over her clit. Her orgasm wouldn’t be far off, not if the way her hips kept bucking, her toes kept furling and unfurling and her moans tumbled out incessantly, had anything to do with it. 

Draco tugged at his own shaft harder, faster, milking himself and fondling the soft skin of his balls with his free hand. The wave of pleasure he’d put off for so long was now back and building steadily. He only had a few last strokes in him as Hermione hissed through her teeth and then let out a stuttered scream. Her whole body twitched and shivered against the bed covers as her pussy walls clamped down repeatedly on thin air. 

Draco noticed a thin sheen of sweat cover Hermione’s body as her right hand fell to her side on the mattress with a thump. Not a second too soon, Draco’s balls pulled up against his body and his mouth fell open as thick ropes of semen spurted out of his cock. It made a mess of his hand, forearm and the bed cover. Draco had only just narrowly missed painting the laptop screen and keyboard with his own come, too. 

His body felt spent and empty, and apparently so did Hermione’s, for she still lay prone of the bed. She raised her head enough to blow a kiss and wave to the camera, before the screen faded to Hermione’s other social media links and suggested videos and photos. 

With a sigh, Draco let his own head fall back against the headboard. For the time being, he ignored the mess in front of him. Knowing the come would still be there – if a little dry - to clean up once he could move his legs again. 

Draco couldn’t remember the last time he’d come that hard. And especially, not from just a handjob. Usually he needed at least one or two warm and wet holes to get his body to feel as drained as it did right now. 

Deep down, Draco knew he’d had an inkling earlier on in the evening as they stood talking, that Hermione Granger was something special. But now, he knew for certain. Something about her had Draco caught in her web, but he was almost positive he could do nothing about it. Because, after all, Hermione had a boyfriend, and whether Harry was up for sharing his girlfriend… Draco was not. Everybody who knew him knew he didn’t share well, hadn’t done so even as a child, and Draco saw no need to change his ways now. 

There had been a few women, on and off, while Draco had been in France. None of them had been proper relationships; just a few dates here and there. But even those had fizzled out over time for one reason or another. These women hadn’t stuck in his mind the way Hermione Granger had, though. They hadn’t made him ache with the physical act of needing to speak to her again. Of course, Draco had used their bodies for pleasure, the same way they’d used his… But they certainly hadn’t made him come that hard he’d seen stars without even sticking his cock inside the girl. 

Draco huffed through his nose and blinked away his fantasy. He couldn’t have her, plain and simple, Hermione had a boyfriend. And no matter how much he wanted to, Draco wasn’t about to put his neck on the line, for a girl he hardly knew. They’d be plenty more fish in the sea. And anyway, freshly back from a holiday away; Draco needed to focus on getting his family affairs in order and getting his For Your Pleasure page back on track. After all, the bills wouldn’t pay themselves. 

\--- 

It took Draco another two weeks to fully settle back into English life, and he hadn’t even really started on the family affairs side of things. 

After his father had passed away, everything belonging to the Malfoy name had been passed along to Draco, as he was the sole living male heir. With the help and advice of lawyers, Draco had written up deeds to rightfully pass some things along to his Mother, Narcissa. However, Draco’s name still remained on all the big things, like the Malfoy estates in England, France and America. And also, the ownership of his father’s company. When he’d left for France, Draco had left those things in the hands of others, not feeling capable of taking on such big tasks and disrupting his own life. Two years and two weeks later, those issues still lay tucked into a folder in Draco’s bedside drawer, with no sign of them being dealt with anytime soon. 

Draco was much too busy reconnecting with his old group of friends to be sorting through boring things like paperwork. 

Tonight, Pansy had organized a much more intimate get together, in celebration of Draco’s permanent stay. Only she, Draco, Blaise and Theo were in attendance, with the possibility of Daphne Greengrass popping over for a quick tipple. Theo placed the order for their Chinese food, while Blaise poured the drinks. And then, the four of them sat around Draco’s new coffee table chatting and joking while they waited for their food to arrive. 

“Are Granger and her boyfriend not coming?” Draco asked as nonchalantly as he knew how. Over the last couple of weeks he’d tried to avoid saying Hermione’s name or thinking about her for fear of developing a Pavlovian response to the girl. 

“No,” Theo answered, flicking through the telly vision channels. “I think she said she already had plans with some old friends from school, so…”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Pansy squawked, throwing her hands up into the air. “Hermione’s boyfriend?” 

Draco looked over to Pansy with confusion written all over his face. “Yes…? The one who picked her up from the fancy dress party?” 

Draco felt Blaise and Theo look over at him as if he’d grown three heads, while Pansy cackled her head off. Tears streamed down her face as she tried to compose herself and get a full sentence out of her mouth without wheezing. 

“You think… you thought…” Pansy fell into a fit of giggles again, so much so her drink sloshed dangerously from side to side inside of her glass. 

“You thought Harry was Hermione’s boyfriend?” Blaise picked up on the conversation. 

Draco nodded silently, now unsure why he’d even asked the bloody question in the first place. 

Blaise chuckled into his beer bottle. “No, mate, the two of them just went to school together. They’re best friends.” He turned to Pansy. “Didn’t she mention living with Harry’s family for a while?” 

Pansy bobbed her head. “Yeah, for a while or so.”

It made sense to Draco that Hermione had lived with Harry’s family for a while after she’d left boarding school, since her own immediate family had upped and fucked off to Australia. Unsure whether Hermione had divulged this information to anybody else, Draco wisely stayed quiet. 

“So, they’re not together?” He said instead. 

Pansy’s pin straight black bob swung against her chin as she shook her head. “Just best friends, like you and me. Hermione isn’t seeing anybody.” 

“Oh.” Draco knew he’d sounded too excited at the prospect of Hermione being single, from the look on Pansy’s face. He quickly moved his attention back to the telly vision program Theo had selected. 

“Didn’t you mention at the party, meeting up with Hermione somewhere and discussing shooting a few scenes together?” Theo asked. He could remember a good few details for somebody who was absolutely sloshed, Draco thought.

Pansy’s ears had pricked up again like a meerkat. “Hermione never mentioned anything.” 

Draco took a long sip of his drink. He loved his friends dearly, but they’d still never learnt how to mind their own business. “I thought she had a boyfriend, so I never messaged her.” 

Pansy’s punch landed straight on his upper arm, and Draco flinched at the sheer force of it. God, that woman could hit. 

“You’re so stupid sometimes, Draco.” She tutted. “Give her a text now.” 

“I’m not disturbing her night out with her friends. I’ll give Hermione a text tomorrow and explain…”

“Done.” Blaise said, chucking Draco’s mobile phone onto the coffee table with a clatter. 

Draco stared at his best friend open mouthed. “What did you just say?” 

Blaise shrugged his shoulders, as if he’d done nothing wrong. “I’ve text Hermione for you. It was easier to do than hear you waffle on.” 

Pansy gave an unladylike snort. 

Draco’s doorbell rang, signaling the Chinese food had arrived. With wallet in hand, Theo stood up. As he passed by the sofa on his way to the front door, Theo patted Draco’s shoulder. “Try not to fuck it up this time, mate.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!
> 
> i'm oddly proud of this chapter lol so i hope you love it as much as i do!
> 
> comments and kudos are so very much appreciated! as are reblogs over on my tumblr; treasurethelittlethings which gets my writing out into the world. 
> 
> thank you for all of the support! xx


	4. Chapter Four

It had been two weeks since Blaise’s fancy dress bash, two weeks since Hermione had given Draco her number, and two weeks since she’d heard anything from him. 

In all honesty, Hermione was a bit miffed at the whole situation. She’d thought she and Draco had gotten on well, with plenty of things in common and laughs between the two of them – but Draco had obviously felt differently. 

No point dwelling on things she couldn’t change, Hermione had plans tonight to have dinner with Harry and Ron at her flat. She’d spent a few hours out of the day, buying and preparing the food for their dinners, whilst also messaging Cedric Diggory back and forth about their upcoming scene the next morning. 

With the fish in the oven, and vegetables boiling away happily on the stove, Hermione had wacked on a nicer (compared to her leggings) pair of slim leg trousers and a spaghetti strap top. She’d just been wrestling with her mane of hair in the bathroom mirror, when the front door open and a loud voice called out “hello?” 

“Fuck it,” Hermione muttered under her breath; giving up on her hairstyle and just letting the curls do whatever the fuck they wanted. It wouldn’t matter to Ron and Harry anyway, they’d seen her in way worse states. 

“Oh good,” Hermione said, rounding the corner and finding Ron already cracking open a bottle of white wine with the corkscrew he’d found on the kitchen counter. “Pour me a big glass, won’t you?” 

“When would I ever pour you a small one?” Ron chuckled, giving Hermione a one armed hug and a quick kiss on the cheek before resuming his task. 

“How’s work been?” Hermione asked, standing at the stove with three empty plates at the ready.

Ron launched into a catch up of his week as he laid the table with knives and forks. He included everything; from the promotion he had an inkling he might be receiving to Molly nagging him about getting a haircut. Hermione rolled her eyes good naturedly as her best friend talked a million miles an hour. Not a moment too soon, for Ron had only just come up for air, another knock at the door sounded. Followed by the open and close of the door on its latch. 

“Something smells delicious,” Harry knocked knuckles with Ron and then rounded the table to greet Hermione. “And, why am I not surprised to see the wine already out?” 

Hermione returned his kiss on the cheek with one of her own. “The bottle would have been opened earlier if I hadn’t been so busy. Now, collect the phones and sit down. Dinner will be ready in a few minutes.”

Harry did as Hermione asked, retrieving his own mobile phone from his back pocket, Ron’s from the side table and Hermione’s from behind the sofa cushions. He stored them safely in one of the kitchen drawers, before sitting down next to Ron. 

Putting away the mobile phones had been Harry’s idea a year and a half ago. Hermione and Ron had gotten into an argument about Ron texting at the dinner table while Hermione had been trying to tell him something important. She’d vowed to not speak to him again, if she ever caught him doing it. So, Harry had come up with the idea of putting their phones away in a drawer. This meant they could spend time together and focus on their meal without being distracted. Problem solved.

Hermione served up their dinners; handing each of their plates to Harry and Ron, before sitting down herself with wine glass in hand. 

“So,” Hermione speared a piece of white fish onto her fork and popped it into her mouth as she turned to face Harry. How did your date with Melody go?”

\--- 

Almost five hours later, Hermione was certainly feeling the effects of the second bottle of wine, which she’d opened and was now swigging from. Harry and Ron had left half an hour ago, both of them making plans for next week’s dinner get together.

“I’m off tomorrow,” Ron said, as he shoved his feet back into his shoes. “Me and Gin were thinking of trying that new pancake place down the road in the morning, if you fancy it?” 

Hermione dug around the drawer to find Ron’s phone, choosing instead, to leave hers where it was for the time being.

“I can’t,” Hermione said apologetically as she handed him his mobile. “I’ve got a scene in the morning.” 

Tucking his phone into his jean pocket, Ron pulled an exaggerated face of disgust. “I really didn’t need to know that.” 

Hermione crossed her arms over her chest. “You know what I do for a job, Ronald. It wasn’t like I told you what position we’d be doing.” 

Ron clapped his hands over his ears. “La la la. Can’t hear you. Don’t want to know, thank you. La la la.” 

With a laugh, Hermione had shoved both of her favourite boys out of the door and then collapsed on the sofa. 

Hermione sighed contently. With the wine running through her body, she felt loose and relaxed. Leaving her phone in the drawer meant she was able to forget about the pressures of her job and social media, even if just for a couple of hours. On another plus side, it also meant Hermione wouldn’t be tempted to drunk text anybody something highly embarrassing, which she would seriously regret when she woke up the next morning.

Once the reality programme Hermione had been transfixed on finished, she dragged her tired arse to bed. A long and hard day waited ahead of her tomorrow, and Hermione knew she’d need all the sleep she could get to look as fresh as possible in front of the HD cameras.

\--- 

Hermione was up early again the next morning, feeling a tad bit worse for wear. With a headache brewing, Hermione gulped down two glasses of water, some pain reliever and a fruit salad. Once the pounding in her head had calmed down, she jumped into the shower. A quick check showed she didn’t really need to shave again, so Hermione gave her body a good scrub down and wash.

She towel dried her hair as best as she could, hoping the curls would work with her today and dry nicely down her back. She slipped on a matching white lace pair of underwear and then threaded her arms through a light pink silk dressing gown. There wasn’t much point in getting fully dressed, if Cedric was just going to tear her clothes off, anyway. 

Standing in front of the bathroom mirror, Hermione wiped off the condensation until she could see herself. She studied her bare face as she brushed her teeth, patting gently at her still puffy under eyes. Perhaps a little bit of colour corrector underneath her concealer and foundation would be in need today. 

Hermione double checked the time on her bedside clock. Finding she had another twenty extra minutes before Cedric arrived, Hermione hunted out her makeup bag from the counter and began painting her face. 

A rhythmic knock sounded against her front door just as Hermione put two spritzes of perfume behind her ears. She walked barefoot through her flat towards the front door. Up on her tiptoes, Hermione made sure it was Cedric behind the peephole, before unbolting the door and swinging it open. 

Cedric’s tall frame greeted her, with an easygoing smile playing about his gorgeous face. 

“Hey, Tiny,” he said, bending down to give her a hug in hello.

Hermione shook her head, curls bouncing all over the place. “Please don’t tell me Pansy is still trying to make that nickname stick.” 

“She is,” Cedric nodded. “And it’s working, isn’t it?” 

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Take your shoes off please.” 

Cedric did as she asked, and then followed behind her silently into her bedroom. Hermione had already set up her tripod with her camera securely balanced on top of it. All they needed to do was to focus the lens properly and press film. 

“You’re still clean, aren’t you?” Hermione asked Cedric as she fiddled with a lone eyelash. 

“Yeah, hang on. My results are just in my pocket.” Cedric stuck his hand into the back pocket of his jeans and pulled out a folded up piece of paper. He unfolded it, smoothed it out as best as possible, and handed it off to Hermione. With eyes like a hawk, Hermione scanned down the grid, searching for any anomalies. She smiled brightly at Cedric as she reached the end of the page. Written in bold green letters were the words ‘CLEAN FROM ALL STD’s AND STI’s.’

Hermione folded it back up neatly into a square and handed it across to Cedric as she spoke. “I sent you mine through email yesterday morning, didn’t I? Are you happy enough with that? Or do you want to see the physical copy?”

Cedric shook his shaggy head of hair. “Nah, its fine. I trust you. So, should we start?” 

Hermione bobbed her head in agreement. “Want to begin with the scene for your page?” 

Hermione slipped out of her dressing down, unclasped her bra and shimmied out of her knickers - leaving them in a surprisingly neat pile on the bedroom floor. While Cedric unbuckled his belt and whipped off his t-shirt, Hermione walked around the bed and pressed the red button on the camera. The red dot began blinking in the corner, and the timer started counting, signaling how many seconds she’d been recording for. 

Cedric’s belt hit the wooden floor with a thump and as he unzipped his trousers, Hermione lay on the bed, propped up against her headboard. Using one hand to toy with her breast, Hermione used her other to find the bottle of strawberry flavoured lube on the bedside table. 

Using the side of her thumb, Hermione popped open the lid of the lube and squirted a glob onto her nipple. She hissed through her teeth at the feeling of the cold gel sitting on her warm skin, and then offered the bottle to Cedric. He took it, with a bob of his head in thanks, and squeezed out a ten pence piece size of the clear gel into the palm of his hand. 

Hermione purposefully rubbed some of the lube into the skin around her décolletage and breasts, leaving her skin shiny and enticing. Once her fingertips were thoroughly coated, Hermione trailed her hand down the ladder of her ribcage and past her tummy button, until she touched her own clit. Her whole body jumped at the first gentle circle of her middle and ring finger, the lube helping everything to glide nicely and add a welcome bit of friction. 

Cedric stayed standing, naked, at the foot of the bed. His lubed up right hand slid up and down his cock at a leisurely pace. Hermione kept her eyes trained on his body, watching as blood rushed down to his cock, making the shaft harder and harder with each pass of his hand. A pant passed through her partially opened lips as she felt heat build up in her core. Hermione focused on the sensation of her clit, becoming hard with blood flow and attention, underneath the pads of her fingers. And the delicate softness of her labia as her knuckles grazed past.

Minutes past, god only knows how many, as Hermione played her own body, with just the right stimulation to her nipples and her core. The pleasure heightened for both Hermione and Cedric, Hermione’s bedroom becoming filled with the sound of moans, groans, profanities and the wet sloppiness of lube and precome. When she could hold off no longer, Hermione locked eyes with Cedric and wailed as she let her orgasm travel through her body. It paralysed her muscles and made her blood thrum hot and fast. 

“Come here.” Cedric’s voice was rough and low in his throat. The fingers on his left hand moved in a crooked come hither motion. 

On her hands and knees, Hermione crawled across the bedcovers. Giving the camera lens a good shot of her arse and still wet slit. Already knowing what Cedric was planning to do, Hermione rearranged her legs underneath herself until she sat back on her ankles. She kept her hands in her lap. Sitting prim and proper, with her back ever so slightly arched to make her breasts stand out even more. 

Hermione’s mouth became a little drier as Cedric wanked himself off faster and faster. 

“Are you going to come, baby?” Hermione asked, as she stared up at him through her eyelashes, demurely. 

Cedric grunted out a confirmation noise. Before Hermione could say anything else, Cedric let out another low moan. Hot splashes of come painted Hermione’s neck and chest. Some of his semen clung to the stiff peaks of her nipples, dripping down her sternum. The pure base animal instincts of it all had another bolt of heat racing through Hermione’s sex. 

Cedric let out a sigh of relief and then dropped ahold of his now soft cock. “You alright, Tiny?” He asked, walking past Hermione to turn the camera off. 

Hermione’s bolt of desire died as fast as it had arrived, as she and Cedric ended their first scene together. She hummed noncommittally as Cedric sat bare arse down on the bed beside her. 

By now, after sitting in the same cramped position for so long, Hermione’s legs had gone dead beneath her. She shifted her weight, swinging her legs around, and staggering off the bed as her calf muscles cramped. Hermione wished she were staggering off the bed for a number of other reasons, being mounted and jackhammered within an inch of her life, for one, but today this was unfortunately not the case. Cedric made no move to help Hermione clean up his come, some of which had gotten caught in her hair. Rather, he had retrieved his phone out of jeans pocket and was scrolling consistently (probably through Instagram). Gravity had begun to take hold. If somebody, or Hermione herself, didn’t grasp a towel soon, there was certain to be a puddle on the floor. It was a good job Hermione didn’t have carpet in her bedroom, for she feared she’d never be able to get certain stains out. 

Hermione walked speedily to the bathroom, still sans Cedric, and yanked a hand towel off the handrail. She ran a corner of the towel underneath the warm tap and then gently wiped away the sticky white mess. 

Being in the business for a couple of years, you have thought Hermione a professional by now… okay, so maybe semi professional… ish. But no. Hermione made the mistake of looking down her body to find anymore semen to clean up, rather than looking in the mirror. Her chin dipped into a pool of semen she’d missed, which by now had gone cold and congealed. Hermione pulled a face to herself in the mirror. The end part of Hermione’s job was by far the messiest, and it definitely didn’t make matters any easier, when certain people didn’t lend a hand.

“You okay?” Cedric called again. He must have looked up from his phone long enough to notice Hermione had gone missing for quiet a while. 

“Yes!” Hermione called back, trying to dab the warm towel around her chin without rubbing off any of her foundation or concealer. It did no good; the white corner of the towel came away beige with makeup. “I’m just cleaning up and fixing my makeup. Get the camera rolling again, won’t you?” 

On her way back to the bedroom, after topping up her makeup, Hermione dumped the dirty towel in the washing machine, ready to be put on a quick spin cycle once she’d finished up work for the day. Cedric had done as she’d asked and set the camera to film again for their final scene together. He’d also managed to get himself hard again (not really that difficult of a task – Hermione thought to herself). But at least he hadn’t asked for her help.

Hermione moved herself into position, lying on the bed, on her side, and facing the large camera lens, as Cedric spoke up. “You still wet? Or do you need some more lube?” 

At least he’d had the decency to ask instead of just assume and try to force his way inside. Hermione had learnt the hard way that that technique hurt like a motherfucker. 

Hermione turned her head over her shoulder to see him. “I’ll need some more lube.” 

Cedric picked the bottle off of the floor and coated himself again. Once done, he too, crawled onto the bedcovers. Cedric fitted his body into the contours of Hermione’s curves, tucking himself into the spooning position. 

Hermione could feel his hard cock pressing insistently into the back of her thigh, smearing some of the lube and leaving another sticky mess for her to clean up afterwards. She tilted her own pelvis forward, and partially lifted her left leg up and behind herself. Cedric took her cue, grabbing the thick flesh of her inner thigh and helping to open her up even wider. 

To make their scene together sell, Hermione understood she needed to play her part – whatever that may be. Some days, that meant getting to dress up and play a character, become a different person. But today, rather than staring unblinkingly into the camera or off to the side, Hermione knew she must stare lovingly at Cedric. Giving off the appearance to the viewers of getting a glimpse of a real life couple.

Still holding her leg aloft and at an angle, Cedric probed her entrance and then slid in inch by inch. Cedric buried his head in the crook of her neck, biting down on her collarbone to muffle his sound of pleasure, as Hermione let out a satisfied moan. 

Cedric bottomed out inside of her, making Hermione’s arse rest in the hard cradle of his thighs. He stilled for a few seconds, letting Hermione adjust to the feeling of being empty and then filled. And letting himself adjust to the feeling of smooth heat wrapped around his cock. 

Cedric set a fast pace, pulling out and then thrusting back into her wet hole. The wooden bed frame creaked with the solid movements, and Hermione’s whole body jiggled. Hermione was certain if Cedric hadn’t been keeping a tight hold of her breast, the peak of her nipple poking between the v of his two fingers, then she would have been pushed off the side of the bed with the sheer force of his hips. 

When Cedric showed no signs of helping, yet again, Hermione reached down and toyed with her own clit. Pressure built up like a dam behind her tummy button, and before she knew it, her climax raced through her like electricity. Hermione kept her head turned it towards Cedric’s, trying to give off the impression of a lover’s embrace. As if she couldn’t bear to take her eyes off of him in her most intimate of moments. In reality, Hermione’s teeth were buried into her bottom lip as she panted, wondering how much longer he was going to keep at it. A thin sheen of sweat coated both she and Cedric, and her leg was beginning to go dead from the blood flowing in the wrong direction. Not to mention her sex was already sensitive from the two orgasms she’d had and the pounding her cunt was now taking. If Hermione didn’t get herself into a warm bath and some loose pajamas as soon as this whole thing was over… well, she’d definitely be sore the next morning. 

Hermione counted four more thrusts before Cedric’s hips stuttered and he let out another low groan similar to the one previously. He let go of Hermione’s breast as his body relaxed and he slipped out of Hermione’s cunt with ease, a trail of semen along with him. It was probably all over her blanket. Just another thing she’d have to strip and put in the wash, once she’d gotten Cedric out of her flat – Hermione thought peevishly. 

The two of them lay prone in the bed, catching their breaths. After her late night last night, Hermione could have closed her eyes and drifted right off back to sleep – if not for the fact that she was lying in a wet patch, and she’d develop a UTI if she didn’t visit the loo asap. 

Cedric’s phone chimed as Hermione psyched herself up to stand up and quickly waddle walk to the bathroom to sort herself out for the second… or was it the third? time that day. 

“I’ve gotta get going,” Cedric said, his voice not holding any sort of apologetic tone. Not that Hermione was all that bothered, she wasn’t too keen with her co-stars hanging around after they’d finished working together. Unless they were friends, of course, and unfortunately, Cedric Diggory did not count. “Would you mind checking over the videos, editing out any filler bits and then sending mine over to me?” 

Hermione shook her head no. The static from the pillow was most likely making her curls worse, but who cared? Nobody else was going to see her today… well, maybe Ron and Ginny if she could meet them at the café in time. 

“Great.” Cedric gave her a quick kiss on the cheek, and then stood up abruptly, pulling on every item of his clothes. “See you around, Tiny.” 

“It’s Hermione,” she muttered under her breath. It didn’t do any good; Cedric was already out of the bedroom door with his foot only halfway in the leg of his denim jeans. 

Hermione waited until she’d heard the front door open and close before she picked up her robe from off the floor and practically ran to the bathroom. With a speedy clean up and wash of her hands, Hermione wrapped her robe tightly around her waist and went in search of her mobile phone. Cedric’s annoying chime had reminded Hermione that she hadn’t checked her phone since… yesterday, sometime? Where on earth had she put it? 

She’d gone out food shopping for the boys, and then Ron had opened the wine… The drawer. Of course, Harry had collected their phones and stored them in one of the kitchen drawers. But, which drawer was the question? It took Hermione a lot longer than it should have to find where Harry had hidden it. Eventually, Hermione keyed in her fingerprint and fired up homepage. As usual, she had a handful of notifications on the screen, one or two texts and most likely people tagging her in videos or photos on Instagram and TikTok. 

Hermione fired off a quick text to Ron, asking if she still had time to meet him and his younger sister. While waiting for his reply, she replied to a few people and checked how her social medias were doing. Feeling rather impatient, Hermione refreshed her text message box. Ron had indeed texted back. 

**Ronald Mcdonald [12:17pm]** if u move ur arse quick then yes we’ll wait 4 u xx

But it was the text below Ron’s, which caught Hermione’s eye. An eleven digit unknown number sat in her inbox. Only a ‘hey’ could be seen in the tiny box, so Hermione clicked to receive the text message properly, thoroughly intrigued as to who had sent the message. Hermione’s eyes scanned from side to side, her eyelids opening even wider when she saw who had signed off the text. 

**Unknown Number [19:22pm]**  
Hey, just wanted to know if you are free anytime this week for that coffee we mentioned? Let me know when and where is good for you and I’ll move some things around. Draco x

Draco. 

Draco fucking Malfoy. 

And he’d had the audacity to send it off with a kiss, as if he’d not just ignored her for the past two weeks. Hermione let out an audible huff, disturbing the fluffy curls framing her face. Her thumbs hovered uncertainly over the keyboard, unsure of how to reply back. But, why should she reply back straight away? Draco had made her wait two weeks, why shouldn’t she let him sweat it out a bit?

Turning her phone off until the screen ran black and with a turn on her heel, Hermione strode purposefully to her bedroom. In no time at all, she’d stripped her bed, ran the spin cycle and shrugged on a spaghetti strap top, some worn down yoga pants and a cardigan. Hermione nodded to herself in the mirror, happy enough with her appearance for a brunch date, and ran down the stairs. Her stomach grumbled all the way, at the thought of a stack of fluffy pancakes, with fruit and raspberry sauce on the side. 

Like the best friend he was, Ron had gone one step further. A stack of pancakes sat waiting for Hermione, steam rising out the top of them and a chunk of butter melting, heavenly, in the middle. The raspberry compote sat in a miniature pot to the side of her plate, accompanied by an assorted bowl of fruit. A pot of tea with three cups sat in the middle of the table, ready to be gulped down. But the best part of all was the crispy tower of fried bacon at Hermione’s side. Ginny reached across to nab a sliver of bacon as Hermione sat down on the comfy padded chair with a large sigh. 

“Hard day? Long day?” Ginny asked, smirking around the food in her mouth. 

Hermione picked up her fork. Using the side of the fork, she sliced into the pancakes and then shoved more than a bite sized amount into her mouth. Ron poured her a cup of tea while she rooted around the fruit bowl for a blueberry. A scalding hot sip of the nectar was needed, before she answered Ginny’s innuendo. 

“A boring day, really.” 

Ron choked on his sip of orange juice. With her spare hand, Hermione firmly patted him on the back, in between his shoulder blades, to get him to cough. 

Ginny was so far across the table, her long red hair was nearly in her pile of mushrooms. “Spill, H.”

Hermione opened her mouth, but closed it again when Ron made a funny gargling noise. “Don’t you dare, H. I really, really, don’t want to know.” 

“Pussy,” Ginny mumbled, loud enough for her brother to still hear her. 

Ron glowed red, his cheeks becoming more and more fuchia coloured by the second. “Just because I don’t want to hear about my best friend fucking…” 

“Alright, alright,” Hermione placed her hands in the air in a placating manner while she looked between the two Weasley siblings. “Let me know when you’re next free, Gin and we’ll have a girly wine night. I’ll tell you all the details then. Okay?” 

The two Weasley’s nodded their heads in agreement. 

“I do have a bit of a predicament I need your help with thought.” Hermione said, biting into a charred bit of bacon and then closing her eyes as she savoured the flavour. “Well, mainly your help, Gin.” 

In between bites of scrumptious food and piping hot tea, Hermione filled Ron and Ginny in about Draco Malfoy. She explained how they’d met, how they’d exchanged numbers and how Hermione hadn’t heard a peep from him until late last night. 

The two redheads stayed uncannily quiet until Ron broke the silence. “Do you like him, like him?” 

Hermione looked down at her plate, staring intently at the blue china pattern around the rim. Anything was better than looking at Ron or Ginny and having her face give her feelings away. 

“So, that’s a solid yes, then,” Ginny noted. 

“It doesn’t matter whether I do or not, quite obviously, nothing is going to happen.” Hermione snapped. “Draco hasn’t spoken to me for two weeks and even when he has, it’s to talk about filming a few scenes together. Those aren’t the actions of somebody who fancies me, or thinks I’m fit, or whatever. We all know they aren’t. If Draco felt the same way, he’d have done something about it sooner, but he hasn’t. So, now I’m stuck… Do I text him back? Or do I make him wait, the same way he made me wait?” 

“Text him now,” was both Ron and Ginny’s answer. Hermione was slightly surprised. She’d known Ron would tell her to text the bloke back straight away. He, himself, didn’t like playing games. But Hermione thought Ginny would at least want Draco to have a taste of his own medicine. 

“If you make him wait, you’re going to feel like a bad person, H. We all know it. So, be the bigger person and just send this Draco whatever his face is something quick. A simple yes and then a date, time and place.” Ginny’s expression looked scarily alike her mother’s, and Hermione wasn’t afraid to tell her so. 

“I know, it’s bloody scary, isn’t it?” Ron agreed, stealing Ginny’s last piece of toast right from under her nose. 

Ginny pointed a finger at her older brother. “You, shut the fuck up.” Then turned her attention back across the table. “Hermione, text him, and sound upbeat, flirty… anything other than bothered about him leaving you on read.” 

Knowing Ginny was right; Hermione pulled up her text message app and reread Draco’s text. She bit the inner side of her cheek as she typed a few sentences and then turned the phone screen around to get Ginny’s approval before Hermione clicked send. 

**Hermione Granger [13:12pm]**  
Hey yourself! I’m free on Wednesday if you are? There’s a nice coffee shop near Kensington Road called Montparnasse Cafe if you fancy? Say 1? x 

Ginny nodded her head, approving of the text message Hermione had composed. “Now, press send.” 

Hermione tapped on the bright green arrow symbol, watching her message pop up on the screen with the words delivered written in tiny grey writing underneath. 

“And, now we wait, again.” Hermione placed her phone into her handbag to avoid the overwhelming urge to check if Draco had seen her text and replied. She folded her hands neatly on the table, then fidgeted with a strand of her hair and then picked up her empty tea cup before placing it back down onto the tablecloth. 

“Just relax.” Ginny winked. “He’ll text you back, I know he will. And if he doesn’t… well then he’s not worth your time, H.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!
> 
> I know! this isn't Draco... pls don't hate me lol but we gonna have a little angst and a little spice... 
> 
> Tell me what you thought in the comments or over on my tumblr! 
> 
> xx


	5. Chapter Five

On the small walk back from the café to her flat, Hermione pondered if she even _did_ want to meet up with Draco Malfoy at all. 

The man obviously didn’t like her in the same fashion she liked him, so was it a good idea to encourage the idea of working together? All in all, Hermione supposed it was. She could separate her work from her feelings. Easy as pie. And, okay, so she wouldn’t get to go out on a date with him, but at least she’d be able to sleep with him and get Draco out of her system. 

That’s all this was. 

She just needed to get him out of her system and then she could focus on something else. _Somebody else._ Surely, these weren’t _real_ feelings. They’d only popped up because Draco had been the first man Hermione had felt wildly attracted too, in a long time. 

It didn’t mean anything. 

Honestly. 

Back in her flat, Hermione ran herself a warm bath, treating herself to a shit ton of bubbles and a chance to crack open her latest romance novel. When Hermione’s fingers and toes had pruned up, she knew she’d spent enough time wallowing and it was time to get up.

After drying her body, slapping on some cherry blossom body lotion and putting on her favourite pair of cosy pajamas, Hermione shuffled out of the bathroom in search of something to do instead of checking if Draco had replied. As she’d already stripped the bed, Hermione thought it a good idea to tick off some items from her weekly cleaning list. Bending down, Hermione rummaged around in the cupboard, moving different size bottles with different coloured liquid to the side as she searched for the kitchen counter spray, polish and duster cloths. 

Hermione opened up her laptop, sitting on the living room coffee table, and pulled up her music app. With some background music, Hermione snapped on her pink rubber gloves and began rinsing the dishes leftover from last night’s dinner with the boys. Two songs in Hermione stripped off her gloves with force and stomped over to change the playlist. Listening to the old 90s hits had her thinking about Blaise’s party and essentially, making her brain run down a rabbit hole about the blonde haired Greek god. 

Instead of torturing herself, Hermione changed over to a podcast she loved. The dulcet tones of the presenter washed over her, introducing the topic of this week’s podcast. Hermione breathed a sigh of relief, going back to finish the task she’d started. 

Hours later, Hermione’s flat shone almost as brightly as it had when she had first moved in. Everything was in its rightful place, scrubbed within an inch of its life and folded neatly. Hermione had even lit one of her fancy candles, making her whole living room smell like ‘Fairy Dust’… whatever that was supposed to smell like. Hermione only stopped her cleaning tirade when her stomach rumbled and she checked the time on the uppermost corner of her laptop. It had been almost five hours since she’d devoured those pancakes. No wonder her stomach was crying out for some more sustenance. 

Hermione made herself a quick stir-fry. Bunging in large pieces of succulent chicken, garlic, spring onions, bean sprouts and broccoli into a sizzling hot pan. Once it had all cooked, Hermione served herself a plate - keeping some in the pan as leftovers for her lunch tomorrow – and finally let herself sit down on the sofa. Hermione made herself wait until she’d scarfed down her dinner to check her phone for the first time all day. 

Silly butterflies bounced about in her stomach as she grasped hold of her phone, the light automatically brightening up with many a variety of notifications. But there was only one notification Hermione wanted to see. 

And there it was. 

Sitting in between a boring bank email and an order confirmation. Quick as a flash, Hermione swiped along, eager to see what Draco had said. 

**Draco Malfoy [13:15]**  
1 o’clock on Wednesday sounds good to me, Granger. C u then x

First thing Hermione noticed was the timestamp. Draco had replied back to her text message only a few short minutes after she’d texted him. She’d wasted all that time cleaning and fussing for nothing. Second, Hermione noticed he’d agreed to her time and place without any complaint. 

She didn’t mean too, but Hermione couldn’t stop her smile from overtaking her face. Even if nothing happened, she’d still get to stare at that jawline and those hands one last time. For now, that was enough for Hermione to die happily.

\--- 

Wednesday morning, the weather appeared cold but with a brilliant blue sky overhead, a sure sign that although it was freezing, rain wasn’t on the forecast.

It was unusually cold for March, the wind whipping in every direction, making the air bite into your skin. Only recently had the trees began to sprout leaves again, and looking out of her bedroom window, Hermione couldn’t wait until she could take a walk and spot spring and summer blooming happily. 

Hermione took extra time with her appearance that morning. Her curls were still playing havoc, so Hermione shoved them up into a bun, leaving a few tendrils to frame her sweetheart shaped face and tickle the nape of her neck. A simple wash of makeup was applied and then Hermione moved onto her outfit. A pair of bright pink slim leg trousers covered Hermione’s bottom half. And starch white blouse, with the top two buttons undone, was tucked into the trousers. The sunshine from Hermione’s bedroom window refracted off of the tiny pearlescent buttons clasping the blouse closed over her considerable bust. 

As it was so bitingly cold outside, Hermione knew it would be the best idea to add a few more layers to keep herself warm on the commute towards the café. She added a bright pink scarf around her neck. This matched her trousers down to almost the exact shade, and was broken up nicely by the ice white blouse. Next, Hermione shoved her feet into her favourite fleece lined boots. They were black; so they went with everything and the shoes kept her feet immeasurably warm. Not to mention, they were flat with a sturdy sole, which meant walking around didn’t pose a problem. Last, Hermione shrugged on her warmest black coat. It too, was fleeced lined on the inside, and had a lovely leather sash, which could be tied around the waist to accentuate Hermione’s to die for figure. 

She scurried around her flat, collecting her phone, keys, purse and earphones, and throwing them into the depths of her handbag. An idea popped into Hermione’s head and she fished her phone back out to send a text to her best friend. 

**Short house to The Chosen One [12:14]**  
I’m off to meet another creator today, Draco Malfoy. We’re meeting at Monteparnasse just off Kensington Road at 1 – if I don’t text you back in an hour, call the police. Thank u xxx

 **The Chosen One to Short House [12:15]**  
Will do H xxx

You could never be too careful.

It took Hermione a short walk, fifteen minutes on the tube with four different stops and then another short five minute walk up and out of the grimy tube station, before Hermione neared the coffee shop. From her spot from across the road, waiting patiently for the green light to appear, making it safe for pedestrians to cross. Hermione could see inside the French style café, where two tables were pressed up against the large square window. One of the tables was unoccupied; Hermione could see the empty chairs and a small vase of fresh flowers in the center of the table. A striking young man with a shock of blonde hair, however, occupied the other table. 

Somehow, Draco Malfoy had already beaten Hermione to their meeting spot. Which, was utter madness, because Hermione had left her flat an extra ten minutes early, so she could be the first one there. Unless Draco lived right around the corner, which, to be fair, wouldn’t be that ridiculous. This was a rich street after all, and Draco was surely a rich man. But, if he didn’t live around Kensington, then, Draco too, had left his dwelling early to meet up with Hermione. 

The pedestrian crossing blared a small jingle, signaling it was safe to cross the busy road. Hermione kept her eyes trained on Draco as she did so. He leaned far back in his chair, probably with his legs spread wide underneath the too small table. He looked down at his phone, focusing intently, giving Hermione an added bit of time to appreciate the long, clean lines of his jaw and neck. 

An older gentleman, perhaps 40s, early 50s, held the door open for Hermione as she entered the warm café and he departed into the freezing cold. He gave Hermione an appraising glance, winked and then left on his merry way. Hermione, however, noticed none of these things, for her attention was solely on Draco Malfoy, who’d turned his head at the sound of the door creaking open. His striking gaze met hers, and Hermione felt her whole body wake up. Her blood fizzled in her veins like sherbet. The worst bit of all, was a shot of arousal right deep down in her gut. As if Hermione’s inner goddess was licking her lips and spreading her legs wide. 

Putting one foot in front of the other seemed harder than it ever had before. The sound from the coffee grinder, the constant chatter of customers and the clink of coins being emptied into the till, all faded away as Hermione focused on walking normally and not making a tit of herself by falling over. 

Hermione plonked her handbag onto the table, careful not to upset any of the items already there. She could already see a pot of… something – god, she hoped it was English breakfast tea – in the center of the table. A small, wispy line of steam escaped through the thin spout. Two cups sat waiting, as well. The one closer to Draco was already filled with the golden liquid, with a dash of milk, or perhaps, cream, which desperately needed stirring in. The other cup, the one closer to the empty chair, remained dry and empty. 

Now free of her handbag confines, Hermione began the process of unraveling her outer layers. Montparnasse must have had its radiators cracked right up. Add in the amassing body heat from the customers… if Hermione didn’t take her coat and scarf off now, she was sure to overheat in a few minutes. As she unbuckled her sash, Hermione could see Draco had already shrugged off his own coat. A nice leather looking jacket, with a broad collar to ward off the chill from his neck. 

Hermione felt a broad chest press up against her back, and the smell of a spicy aftershave filled her nostrils. 

“Let me help,” Draco said, quietly. His lips dangerously close to the outer shell of her ear. “No woman should take off her coat alone.” His fingertips held the fur lined collar of her coat, pulling it up and away from her body, as Hermione slid her arms out. She turned around until their chests brushed one another, tilting her head up to get her first proper, up close and personal, look at him. 

Unabashedly, Draco’s eyes perused their way down Hermione’s body, taking in her outfit choice and the way the material clung to certain aspects of her body. His eyes clashed with Hermione’s, smirking, as he realised he’d been caught out. It was the first time Hermione had gotten a look at the colour of his eyes. They were a stormy grey – _how fitting_ , Hermione thought. It wasn’t a colour of irises she’d ever seen before. Anybody normal wouldn’t have been able to pull it off, but unsurprisingly, Draco could. Hermione was beginning to suspect he might be an anomaly compared to everybody else. Something special. 

Draco hung Hermione’s thick coat on the back of her chair, and then pulled it out, a silence gesture for Hermione to sit down. Not a second had her arse touched the surface, before Draco scooted her chair in towards the table, creating a ear splitting _screech_ as it dragged across the flagstone floor. 

Again, Draco bent down, this time letting his soft lips graze Hermione’s ear. 

“You look beautiful today, Granger.” 

Nervously, Hermione fiddled with unraveling her scarf from around her neck. Why on earth was she this nervous? He was _just_ a man, for God’s sakes. A very attractive man, with a voice like liquid gold… but still, just a man, nonetheless. 

Thankfully, Hermione’s palms had stopped sweating and her fingers stopped trembling, enough for her to get the damned scarf from around her neck. Draco rounded the table, taking his own seat again and then resting his hand on the handle of the teapot. 

“I had the courtesy of buying us some tea, would you like a cup?” 

“Yes, please,” Hermione nodded, pushing her cup closer to the teapot spout. 

The slosh of the black liquid pouring into the cup was the only sound, until Draco placed the heavy teapot down onto the table with a _thunk!_

“Milk? Sugar?” He asked, holding aloft the tiny cup of milk in one hand and a packet of white sugar, in the other. 

“Just milk, please.” Hermione said, watching him pour the milk into her cup and use the teaspoon on his saucer to stir it all together. “Are you having something to eat?” 

Draco fixed his steely gaze upon her; once he’d finished fixing her tea the way Hermione liked it. “I’m not too fussed. Get yourself something, though.”

Hermione flagged down a passing waitress, with a beaming smile. “Can I have one of your fruitcake teacakes, please? Could you cut it in half, so we can share? I’ll have my half toasted, please. Draco?” 

Hermione thought she saw a surprised expression on Draco’s face, before she blinked and he’d rearranged his features to face the waitress. “I’ll have my half toasted, as well, with lashings of butter.”

The waitress nodded, scribbling down on her small pad of paper. “I’ll get those right out for you both.” 

Hermione and Draco uttered polite thankyous in her direction and then descended into silence. 

Hermione finally took a deep breath and broke the silence. “Thanks for meeting up with me.”

Draco’s eyes cut to hers, and he smiled. “No problem, Granger. I wanted too. I just… Time ran away with me. I left a lot behind when I moved to France, so I’ve had a lot of things to catch up on.”

“And have you caught up on them, then?” 

Draco shook his head and took a sip of his hot drink. “Not even close. I left for France in quite a hurry, not realising how much I’d left behind. The task seems more daunting now I’m back on English soil.” 

Hermione tucked a stray curl behind her ear, and then grasped the sides of her mug in an attempt to get some warmth into her ice cold hands. “Why did you have to leave so suddenly?” 

A heart beat of stillness. 

And then, “My father passed away.” 

Hermione blinked once, twice. Draco’s Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat, watching, waiting for Hermione’s response. 

She wet her lips. “I’m sorry, Draco.”

Draco shrugged her condolences off. “Don’t be. He wasn’t a very nice man. A cunt, really. If we’re being honest with one another. And he’s left me with a lot of paperwork to sort through.” 

Hermione’s hand twitched on the table, her fingers itching to take a hold of Draco’s hand and comfort him. Instead, Hermione bobbed her head in understanding. Thankfully, before she could think of something to say… 

_What did one say to somebody who’d just called his own flesh and blood a cunt? Hermione wasn’t the biggest fan of her own parents, they’d essentially left her on her own, after all, but they weren’t necessarily bad people._

…The waitress appeared at their side. 

“Here you both go, half a toasted teacake each.” She placed their respective plates down in front of them. “That’ll be £2.50.” 

Hermione reached around the back of her chair to fumble with her handbag, trying her utmost to locate her phone and pay with her contactless card. The distinctive beep of a card machine sounded behind her, and Hermione turned to face Draco as quick as a flash. He was just tucking his card into his wallet. 

“Thank you,” the waitress said, ripping off his receipt and handing it to him. 

“You didn’t have to do that,” Hermione said indignantly, after the waitress had walked away to serve another table. “I’m more than capable of buying us something to eat.” 

Draco waved her away. “Don’t worry about it, Granger.” 

Hermione could feel her anger beginning to fizz in her veins. She supposed, if she had magic like all of those fantasy romance books she read, then, the ends of her hair would be crackling right about now. “I mean it! You…” 

“You can buy the next one. Is that all right?” Draco asked, nonchalantly taking a large bite out of his teacake. 

Hermione knitted her eyebrows in a frown. “Fine. But I’m holding you too that, Malfoy.” 

His eyebrow rose, as if Draco found something highly amusing. 

“What?” Hermione asked, her question muffled with the bread like substance on her tongue. 

“Nothing,” Draco chuckled and then laughed some more when colour rose into Hermione’s cheek with unsuppressed anger. “What’s with switching between using my Christian name and then my surname?” 

“Draco when you’re being pleasant, and Malfoy when you’re being an arse.” Hermione gave him a saccharine smile. “Anyway, you’re one to talk, you’ve not used my first name since I got here.” 

“Would you rather I call you Hermione?” Draco tilted his head over to one side. Hermione thought she’d never seen a human look more like an animal stalking its prey, before.

“Call me whatever you want.” 

Draco looked away, out of the window. He bit his lip, and then looked back at Hermione, shaking his head as he did so. His eyes shone brightly with something indescribable. 

“Be careful what you wish for, Hermione.” 

God, the sound of her first name rolling off of Draco’s tongue, was divine. Hermione’s inner goddess’ ears pricked up again, making a lewd gesture and rolling her hips suggestively. Hermione, herself, shifted in her seat, crossing her legs and squeezing her thighs together tightly to alleviate some of the pressure building up in her cunt. It didn’t do much. All Hermione could do was give thanks to past Hermione for not choosing to wear a skirt. She worried she’d be able to feel her slick running down her inner thighs, otherwise.

\--- 

Draco leaned back in the chair, sucking the leftover butter from his fingers and glancing down the broad view of Hermione Granger’s cleavage. Her top two buttons were artfully undone, giving him a spectacular view of her lacy white bra as she bent over to reach for the milk and fix herself another cup of tea.

It wasn’t just her cleavage, making Draco’s cock wake up with a mind of its own. 

Hermione was shorter than she’d been at Blaise’s fancy dress party – it had been the first thing he’d noticed when she entered the coffee shop. Draco deducted she must have been wearing sky high heels that night. Her small stature enhanced her curves; big tits, tapered in waist, rounded hips with enough flesh on her arse to jiggle and grab. The outfit Hermione wore did her every favour under the sun. It clung and dipped in all the right places, and Draco couldn’t stop himself from tracking his eyes up and down her body. Draco wanted to commit her to his memory… and his spank bank. 

Just like at the party, Hermione’s scent was so intoxicating. Draco felt himself drawn in, like sea to the sand. The skin of her neck and delicate roundness of her ear so dainty and precious, Draco couldn’t stop himself from bending down and whispering to her. He’d watched as the goosebumps had erupted all over the back of her neck, and she’d involuntary shivered. 

Draco couldn’t stop himself from being surprised, when Hermione bought the teacake for the two of them to share. Very few people had ever done that for him, in his lifetime. His mother, most likely – but only when he was a young boy. He’d had a lot of people share things with him while in attendance of boarding school, but the rules were different in the outside world. Neither children, nor adults, were forced to share. Pansy, Theo and Blaise were his best friends, they didn’t count.

But a stranger? Well, a woman who was practically a stranger? That was unheard of. Draco had felt his heart glow with gratitude for Hermione’s kindness, and quickly wiped the shock from his face, before she could notice and ask. And Draco was sure she’d ask, Hermione was an inquisitive little thing. 

Her kindness was one of the things Draco found himself drawn too. He wanted to bask in it, like the first patches of warm sunlight after a dreary, grey winter. Although Hermione asked question after question, it wasn’t in a prying manner. She’d offered her condolences, but said nothing more about the passing of Draco’s father, Lucius. Or, what that had to do with Draco leaving so soon for France. Draco was silently grateful for that. It meant he didn’t have to explain how cloying and yet so freeing the death of his father, his tormentor, had been. So much so, that Draco couldn’t bear to be in the same house, on the same ground, in the same country, and around the same people who knew his father well. He’d had to get away from it all. France had been his only escape. 

The second thing Draco was drawn to was Hermione’s fieriness. At Blaise’s fancy dress party, Draco had mistakenly thought Hermione to be placid and innocent. How wrong he was. Well, perhaps not all that wrong. She definitely was _not_ placid. Hermione had proved it when she’d gotten all hot and bothered about Draco’s paying for their shared teacake. The blood running through her body had stained her cheeks – a sure sign of how annoyed she was. Draco hadn’t been able to keep the smirk off of his face, while Hermione spit feathers at him. He’d wondered if he could get her riled up enough to push her up against a wall and spank her arse. Would she let him? Or would Hermione sink her claws into his skin in retaliation? The thought of Hermione fighting back got Draco hot under the collar, too. 

In the end, Draco had offered to let Hermione buy their next lot of food or coffee. She’d happily agreed. This time, Draco had to hide his ever growing smile into his teacake, at the image of the two of them going out together on another coffee date. Hermione had agreed quickly, almost a little too quickly… Perhaps, Draco wasn’t the only one who wanted to meet up again. 

Hermione’s innocence was the third thing driving Draco around the bend. Of course, she was a ‘For Your Pleasure’ content creator and Draco had seen a few of her videos – so, Hermione wasn’t all that pure. But, there was something else that lurked beneath the surface. Some sexual things Draco wondered if Hermione had ever tried. In simple terms, Draco wanted to corrupt her. He wanted to find out what Hermione did and didn’t like, if she let Draco whisper all the filthy things he wanted to do to her and mark her skin red raw. Would she let herself be dominated in the bedroom? Or let Draco coat her pretty face in his come, until some of it caught in her ridiculously long eyelashes and she couldn’t open her doe eyes? 

Draco had imaged a series of things he wanted to do to her. He wanted to tie her hands up above her head, splay her legs wide, never letting them close, and bury his head between Hermione’s legs. He never wanted to let up; Draco wanted to hear Hermione’s whines, sobs and pleas echo through his ears. Letting her come and come and come, until tears streamed down the sides of her face and Hermione had become a babbling wreck. Even then, Draco wasn’t sure he’d be nice and give her a reprieve. 

Draco wanted Hermione to sit on his lap, knicker-less, grinding and rubbing herself on the scratchy material of his trousers. He wanted to instruct her to ride his thigh, but never let herself fall over the edge. Draco wanted to feel a wet patch grow, letting Hermione know she had stained his best pair of trousers and she needed to be punished for being such a greedy little slut. _His_ greedy little slut. 

Sir’s little angel. 

Because that’s what Hermione was, a little angel. All Draco needed to find out now was whether little Hermione Granger was as innocent as she made out to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello!
> 
> hope you enjoyed this chapter! 
> 
> let me know what you thought xx


	6. Chapter Six

Hermione’s ringtone rang shrilly just as she was using a napkin to wipe the butter from her fingertips. Harry’s contact number flashed on the screen.

Hermione looked over to Draco as her thumb hovered over the green accept button. “Sorry, I have to take this. I’ll only be two minutes.” 

He shook his head. “Don’t worry about it. Go right ahead.” 

“Harry? What’s wrong?” 

“It’s been an hour, and you didn’t text me back, H. I was starting to worry,” Harry’s voice crackled down the line. 

Hermione pulled the phone away from her ear for a split second, to check the time. Somehow, it was now 2 o’clock in the afternoon. Hermione’s hour in Draco’s company had just sped by like a freight train. 

“Shit, sorry, I didn’t mean to make you worry. We just lost track of time, is all. But, anyway, I’m fine.” Hermione watched Draco watching her. “Draco doesn’t strike me as the serial killer type anyway, I’m not sure he’d be willing to get his expensive clothes dirty.” The blonde Adonis just about choked on his sip of water. 

“So you’re safe?” Harry pressed. 

“Yes, I’m safe. I’ll speak to you soon, okay? Draco and I still need to talk about work arrangements.” 

Hermione could see in her mind’s eye, Harry cringing at the idea of her work arrangements. “Right, alright.” He answered. “Speak to you soon. Bye, love you.”

“Love ya. Bye.” Hermione moved her head with the phone as she lowered it to the table. “Bye, bye.” 

“A serial killer, huh?” Hermione’s eyes jumped to Draco’s face. He looked at her with a small smile playing about his mouth, and his grey eyes alight. 

Hermione shrugged shyly, fiddling with the back of her phone case. “I always ask my best friend, Harry, to check up on me when I meet up with strangers. Not that you’re as stranger… well… God, you know what I mean.” Hermione was rambling now and she couldn’t seem to stop herself. “I just do it to make sure you don’t kill or kidnap me.” 

Draco nodded with one eyebrow raised. “It’s a good idea. But I can promise, I’m neither a killer not a kidnapper.”

“I know,” Hermione said simply. “I feel safe with you.”

\--- 

Another scalding hot pot of tea was delivered to their table, before Hermione could bring up the reason she and Draco had decided to meet up in the first place.

“So, filming?” Hermione asked. 

Draco sat back in his chair, absentmindedly stirring in an anticlockwise motion. “Yes, filming.” 

“How _did_ you get into creating content? I can’t remember if I asked you or not at Blaise’s party.” 

Draco licked a dreg of tea off the back of the teaspoon. Hermione watched the pink tip of his tongue drag upwards against the metal. “To piss off my parents.” 

“You starting making porn to piss off your parents?” Hermione had assumed Draco hadn’t started making content because he needed the money. But she’d never imaged it was due to something as fickle as annoying his parents. 

“Yeah, we all did. It started as a bit of a joke, really.” Draco explained. “Pansy, Theo, Blaise and I were all getting drunk, messing around, that sort of thing. We dared each other to make a profile and post something – a video, a picture, whatever we had to hand on our phones already, really. After that, our profiles just kind of started to pick up speed.” 

“Oh, right.” Hermione traced her thumbnail over the grain running throughout the wooden table. 

“Why did you start?” 

Hermione gave Draco a small smile at his polite question. They both knew the answer as to why she’d started. “I needed the money.” 

Draco nodded his head slowly, understanding dawning in his eyes. Hermione worried he might say something else on the topic, or start to look at her with pity in his eyes. The sad little girl, whose parents had abandoned her. Who had to mooch off of her best friend, because she felt as if she had nobody else in the world. 

That was not at all what she wanted. Instead, Hermione faked a smile and changed the subject. “How do you feel about filming a couple of scenes together?” 

Draco ran a hand through his hair; smoothing it down and then ruffling the strands back up. Somehow he still looked well groomed, not like he’d just stuck his fingers into an electrical socket. A rather large part of Hermione wanted to see Draco just awoken, all sleepy faced and bedhead. She wanted desperately to see him mussed up and unkepmt. 

“I’m thinking it’s more about how _you’ll_ feel filming scenes with me, Hermione.” 

A startled laugh made its way out of Hermione’s mouth. What an absurd idea! Draco was acting as if Hermione had never filmed a scene with somebody else before. 

“What do you mean?” She asked, still giggling to herself. “I _have_ filmed scenes with other men before, your best friend Blaise, being one of them. You know that, right? Well… I mean, you must know. You subscribed to my page, I saw the payment enter my bank account, with my own two eyes.” 

A split second passed. 

Hermione thought she might have rendered Draco speechless for the first time ever. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out, so he closed his lips again. 

Eventually, Draco settled on the right thing he wanted to say. “I know you’ve worked with other creators, Granger. But, I do things a little differently compared to others.” 

Hermione shook her head. She pried herself on being clever, but she still did not understand what the ever-living fuck Draco was going on about. “I’m not following.” 

“I’m a dominant, Hermione. I usually use BSDM themes in my scenes, if the woman is comfortable enough.” 

The explanation slipped right off of Draco’s tongue, as if he was explaining about the weather outside or his plans for the weekend ahead. 

Hermione blinked once, twice, three times. She was aware her mouth was partially open, making her look rude and probably a bit gormless. Hermione closed it with a snap. 

“Are you all right?” Draco’s low voice snapped Hermione out of her trance. Concern was clearly written across his sharp features. 

Nodding quickly, Hermione reached for her small glass of water. Hermione’s brain didn’t register to the bite of the cold glass in the palm of her hand, nor the liquid running down her throat. The still water only just barely took away her cotton mouth. Hermione was quite surprised to find her hands weren’t shaky. 

“You know what that means, don’t you?” Draco questioned, his brow furrowed. 

“Yes, I bloody well know what that means, I’m not stupid,” Hermione snapped. She flicked her eyes over the rest of the café, to see if anybody had overheard their conversation, as a fierce red blush coated her cheeks. Nobody around her and Draco said anything, so either they’d not been caught or the other customers were too afraid to speak up. 

Draco laced his fingers together as he leaned over the table to lower his voice. _Oh, now he decides to lower his voice_ – Hermione grumbled to herself.

“I’m taking your reaction to mean your answer will be no, then?”   
“I never said that.” Hermione’s reply was too quick for her own liking. The growing smirk on Draco’s face showed he knew it too. “I just… what does that mean?”

Draco’s well groomed eyebrow was raised as he spoke. “You just told me you knew what it meant, Granger.”

“Draco.” She said exasperated. 

Still smiling, Draco rolled his eyes, as if he couldn’t believe he was doing such a thing, and took pity on Hermione. 

“BDSM is a wide spectrum and essentially, it can mean different things to different people. For me, I identify as being a dominant. Basically meaning, I get off on being the one in charge. Mainly, in the bedroom, but also in other situations if they were to arise.” 

“So, what?” Hermione threw her hands up into the air. “You’d want me to follow you around all day and I’m expected to obey your orders when you tell me to kiss your feet?” 

“Not at all, Hermione.” Draco’s voice was still low but firm, telling her exactly where she was wrong. “I enjoy taking a woman’s pleasure for my own and being in control of it. I don’t enjoy ordering women around and making them do everyday tasks for me. In my eyes, being a dominant is about taking care of your submissive, in every sense of the word. Making sure they’re well kept and fed. Making sure they’re taking care of themselves when their dominant is not around. It’s about connecting with somebody so much, that all you want is the very best for them. Everything in you wants to be the person to provide that to the submissive.”

“But…”

Draco held Hermione’s gaze with a glint of something. “I didn’t say I was finished, Hermione.”

Hermione’s sex involuntarily clenched at Draco’s tone. 

“Every practicing dominant has a different sense of what being a dominant means. Some are pretty hard core, others, not so much. I might order you to get down on your knees, Hermione, but it’ll be for a totally different reason than to kiss my feet.” 

Hermione pressed the cold glass of water to her dry lips, tilted her head back and drained the rest of the liquid in two big gulps. It didn’t quite quench her insatiable thirst, or help her tongue from feeling dry and swollen. But the ice coldness of the glass and water against her lower lip and gums did shock Hermione’s system into reacting again. 

“That doesn’t sound as scary as I imaged it to be in my head.” 

“Things rarely are as scary as our minds make them out to be.” 

Hermione continued to peer at Draco over the rim of her glass. “So, if we…” She coughed to clear her throat and tried again. “If we filmed together, would it be… you know,” Hermione gestured to herself and Draco. “Would I be your submissive?” 

Draco rolled up one of his sleeves to itch the inner side of his elbow. Hermione closed her mouth to stop herself from drooling. Thick veins corded his forearms, and Hermione could see the hint of a black tattoo. 

“You don’t have to decide now, Hermione.” He rolled his sleeve back down. “Why don’t you go back home, think on it, and give me a call when you’ve decided either way?” 

“No, no.” Hermione protested. “I… I want to give it a go.”

“Then yes, if you’re sure. You would be my submissive.” A serious expression had molded itself onto Draco’s face. “I want you to know, you’re under no obligation to go through with this. We can just give it a go, and then if you want to back out, you can.” 

“Promise?” Hermione hadn’t been this nervous and insecure since the first time since she’d started posting on the ‘For Your Pleasure’ website. 

“I promise. I’m not going to hurt you, Hermione.” She nodded along as she felt the honesty of Draco’s words. “You’ll have your own safe word to use when you want to stop, and you’re free to back out whenever.” 

Hermione silently nodded her consent. 

“I’m going to need more than that, Hermione. Verbal consent.” 

“Yes… yes, Draco.”

“Okay, good.” A tiny smile was back on Draco’s face, but he still looked overly concerned. “Breath, Hermione, the vein in your forehead looks like it’s going to burst.” 

Following his instruction, Hermione took a deep breath in, filling up her lungs and feeling them expand. Her breasts strained even further against the confines of her bra and blouse. She knew her suspicions were true; the buttons fit to bursting, when Draco’s eye line momentarily strayed from her face. Down, up, down and back up again. 

“That’s better,” Draco commented. “Had me worried for a second there, if you were going to faint or not. Do you want something sugary to help your blood sugar levels?” 

Hermione waved him off. She didn’t want to be in any more debt to him, especially not over something so little as a brownie bar. “No, I’m fine. I think it’s just the shock, is all.” 

Again, Draco ran his hand through his locks. Hermione couldn’t work out if it was a nervous tick, or simply just a bad hair day. If a man like Draco could even have bad hair days? “You’ve handled it better than other people I’ve told. Some other girls would have ran off screaming and never spoken to me again.” 

“I’m made of tougher stuff than that.” 

Draco raised both of his eyebrows, while his lips twitched. “I know you are. Okay, so how many scenes would you be comfortable working together on?” 

Draco’s business head was back on. Determined, confident, and assertive. Hermione could see the dominant side of him already coming out to play. 

“Four seems fair, doesn’t it?” Hermione reasoned. “Two for my page and two for yours.”

“Good idea, and where would you want to film?” 

A pink haired girl entered the café, stepped up in the line and jangled the coins in her fist. Hermione focused on the barista, taking her simple order, before she tore her eyes away and back to Draco. “I guess it would make most sense to film your scenes in your flat and my own over at mine.” 

“Are you sure you wouldn’t be more comfortable filming everything in the comfort of your own home?” 

Hermione shook her head, the force of it making a rouge curl spring out of place. “No, I’ll be fine.” She assured Draco as she attempted to shove the curl back into the bun, without a mirror to guide her. 

His eyes followed her movements, and not for the first time today, did Hermione wish she could hear Draco’s thoughts. 

Draco’s tongue traced his lower lip, wetting it, and then sunk his top teeth into the plump skin. Either he was deep in thought, or he seriously had the urge to bite down on something. 

“Do you usually plan out what you and your partner are going to film?” Hermione asked, laying her hands flat on the table. “Because I’m a bit of a planner, so…” 

Draco’s eyelids drooped a tad, becoming hooded, and he smirked, like the cat who’d gotten the cream. “Glad I’m not the only one whose being thinking dirty thoughts, Granger. By all means, if that makes you feel more comfortable, we can throw some ideas out there and see what seems best. What were you thinking about?” 

With one look, Hermione knew instantly she’d fallen into a trap. 

She could do it. She could say the words out loud, to Draco, without blushing like a catholic schoolgirl. 

Hermione shrugged, attempting to look unflustered. “Doggy’s always popular, so is missionary, and I guess cowgirl is good for the camera angles.” 

“Sounds to me, as if you’ve been thinking about this for a long time. Granger.” Hermione could see Draco’s eyes light up with the prospect of mischief. 

Hermione tutted. “Oh, shut up.” Not the best come back she’d ever spoken, but it had simply been the first thing to roll off her tongue. 

Draco laughed loudly.

It was helpless. Draco Malfoy made Hermione Granger tongue-tied and nervous. He caused, what felt like, a hurricane to erupt in her stomach. Other men didn’t cause Hermione to feel this way, – something about Draco was different. But Hermione simply couldn’t put her finger on it, and it was annoying her to no end. 

“You’re right, Granger, cowgirl…” He didn’t even stutter over the word. “Is best for the cameras. But reverse cowgirl would be even better.” 

“Okay, I’ll take reverse cowgirl then.” Hermione couldn’t get over how weird this felt to be talking about in a public setting. She felt self-conscious, flighty, like everybody in the café knew exactly what she and Draco were discussing. Usually, she and her co-worker would just plan over text or phone call, in their own private bubble. But apparently, Draco Malfoy did not work that way. 

“Good,” Draco nodded. “I’ll take doggy. How do you feel about blowjobs?” 

How the fuck did he say such things in such a public setting, with a straight face? 

In the end, Hermione and Draco came to an easy agreement. They would film two scenes for Draco’s page - doggy position and a blowjob. And another two scenes would be filmed for Hermione’s – missionary and reverse cowgirl. 

Draco pulled out his phone and began to type their schedule out to email onwards to Hermione. 

“It’s cute, Granger.” Draco noted, peering at Hermione over the top of his mobile phone. “How you film yourself riding a man into oblivion. Or touching your pretty cunt and climaxing multiple times a week, but yet you still manage to blush.”

Hermione’s breath hitched at the pure filth dripping from his every word. 

“See?” Draco nodded with his head towards her face. “You just did it again.”

Self-consciously, Hermione brought both of her palms up to either of her cheeks, feeling how hot they blazed. She probably resembled a tomato right about now. 

Draco continued to type away on his phone keypad.  
“I’ll send you through a copy of our schedule now, and also a non disclosure agreement for you to sign. Is that all right?” 

“Of course.” Hermione’s phone chimed to signal an email notification. Sliding it across to accept, she clicked on the link, quickly scanned to make sure everything looked in order and then began filling in her details. 

Full name, date of birth, contact number – all of the questions Hermione was not a stranger to answering frequently. With a flourish, she drew her signature in the square box at the bottom of the document, next to Draco’s, and then sent it off with a whoosh! 

His phone chimed not a second later with the notification, and his eyes moved at a rapid pace, taking in all of Hermione’s written details. 

“Jean?” Draco asked in what sounded like disbelief. “Is that really your middle name?” 

“Yes, why?” 

“Nothing.” Draco shook his head slightly. “Middle names are just funny things, aren’t they?” 

“I didn’t see yours on the agreement.” Hermione pointed out. “And I’d definitely expect somebody with a name as posh as yours to have some sort of fantastical middle name. Or names.” 

“I used to have one, but I don’t go by it anymore.” 

“Why?” 

“It was my father’s name.” 

Hermione wisely kept her lips tightly sealed at Draco’s statement. Deciding instead, to change the subject completely.

“Well, are you free next week to film together?”

“Is Tuesday any good to you?” Draco, too, went along with the change of conversation, as if Hermione had never probed him for an answer to her question. 

“Yes, Tuesday should be fine. I have your number now anyway, so I can contact you if I need to change anything. Are we filming at yours or mine first?” 

“Mine.” He said.

Well, at least they had made that decision easily enough. 

Hermione bobbed her head and busied her hands with rewinding her scarf around her neck. A signal to both herself and Draco that they had finished what they’d come here to talk about, and Hermione was preparing to take her leave before she became even more flustered and said something stupid – or even worse, something she’d regret. 

“I’m clean, but I’ll be getting tested on Saturday to give me my STD results on paper. Is it alright if I just email them across to you before Tuesday?” 

“Yes,” Draco confirmed. “That’s fine. I’ll send mine to you as well. Would you feel more at ease meeting here on Tuesday? Say 2 o’clock? And then we can travel together to my flat.” 

“Yes, please.” Hermione pushed her arms through her coat sleeves. She tied her sash tightly around her waist. Pale fingers, longer than her own, reached out to smooth down a part of the twisted leather. Hermione watched those fingers move with practiced ease and then cricked her neck upwards to find Draco also standing. Without her heels on, the height difference between the two of them was more noticeable. Hermione only just barely reached Draco’s shoulder. 

Courteously, he bent and pressed his jawline to Hermione’s cheeks on either side. To outsiders, it would have looked like a friendly goodbye kiss. But it left Hermione’s insides in a pile of mush, and her cunt walls becoming slicker by the seconds spent in Draco’s presence. The spicy, manly scent of Draco’s aftershave lingered on Hermione’s coat collar long before he’d pulled away. 

“I’ll see you on Tuesday, Granger. I’m looking forward too it.” 

_Not as much as I am_ – Hermione thought to herself. 

“Tuesday. 2 o’clock. Goodbye, Draco.” 

This time, Draco’s fingertips brushed against her right hand, dangling down by Hermione’s side. The two of them watched as Draco tangled his fingers with Hermione’s for a split second – or perhaps even longer – and then reluctantly pulled away with a twitch. 

“Take care of yourself, Granger.” 

_Oh, if only he knew exactly what Hermione planned to do when she got home…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!
> 
> I've finished writing up this fic, so updates will be coming twice a week now :)
> 
> tell me what you think! 
> 
> xx


	7. Chapter Seven

The journey home was all a blur to Hermione; the sound of her feet hitting the pavement, the chill in the air, the many people skirting around to avoid bumping into her. Even the constant sway of the tube carriages couldn’t tear Hermione’s mind away from her tirade of filthy thoughts. 

Eventually, when the crossing and uncrossing of her legs no longer sated the growing dull ache between the apex of her thighs, Hermione spied the front door leading to her block of flats. All fingers and thumbs, she shoved her key in the lock, slammed it behind her with an almighty _thud_ and took the stairs two at a time. 

Hermione didn’t even make it fully into her apartment. With another loud noise (something her downstairs neighbours were sure to complain about, if they were in), Hermione dropped her handbag on the floor, not giving a fuck when the entire contents burst out everywhere. Leaning her full weight against the closed door, Hermione slipped her hand into the waistband of her trousers, bypassing her knickers entirely and finally touching her pulsing clit. A sigh of relief left her lips, as Hermione’s head tilted backwards until it met the front door. 

Dipping into the pool of her arousal, Hermione used the added lubrication to circle her clit faster. Letting a low whine escape at the sensation of pure pleasure shooting up and down her spine. 

The small part of Hermione’s brain, which wasn’t fogged over, whispered this might be nicer if she moved away from the door. Perhaps sitting down on the sofa, with her legs opened wide, or, from the comfort of her own bedroom. Even better still, to use Hermione’s favourite vibrator, and take the pressure out of her wrist. But Hermione couldn’t find it within herself to move. The rest of her body signals alerting her brain just craved a release – her body wasn’t too fussy about the where or the how. 

In no time whatsoever, Hermione squeezed her eyes tight, feeling tears collect in the corners at the pleasure of it all, as her orgasm shuddered through her. Hermione gasped brokenly as she came down from her high all too soon. She stood still, hands still stuck in the elastic band of her knickers, and listened to sound of her own heartbeat racing. The silence in the rest of her flat only amplified the steady beat of Hermione’s blood pumping through her body. 

For now, the orgasm had been enough to take the edge off. But it was almost a week until Hermione saw Draco again… 

One thing was for certain, Hermione desperately needed to charge her vibrators. From now until Tuesday, she was going to get her money’s worth out of them all… And then some.

\--- 

Monday morning, the beginning of a brand new week, and for once Hermione actually felt refreshed. She’d decided to forgo alcohol that weekend, choosing instead to stick to water and her new favourite peach flavoured tea. Hermione had managed to cram all of her favourite pastimes into just two days - meditating, practicing yoga, reading, soaking her body in a boiling hot bubbly bath.

She sent Draco a copy of her most recent STD results, showing all symptoms to be negative and her body clean. Not half an hour later, Draco sent across his most result clinic results, with a question of whether they were still up for filming tomorrow. Hermione politely thanked him and promised she’d see him at 2 o’clock sharp the next day.

A green coloured matching cable knit set, from the dark depths of her wardrobe, caught Hermione’s eye on Tuesday morning. She buttoned up the middle two emerald buttons to cover her breasts, but left the last three undone so when she twisted this way and that, her abdomen would peek out. The mini skirt slid up and over her hips easily due to the stretchy material. Hermione admired the curve of her own arse in her full-length mirror, smiling happily at what she saw. 

Filming outside of her flat meant Hermione had to fill her tote bag with extra stuff to use. They’d be using Draco’s camera and other filming equipment, but she still needed to bring some items of her own. An extra pair of underwear, makeup for any touch ups, deodorant, perfume and body spray to stay smelling good and the essential, extra minty chewing gum. 

Hermione had a spring in her step the whole journey to the café. It was the fresh start to a brand new week. Spring was finally on its way, making a break through the notorious British grey clouds. And Hermione Granger was getting to have sex with the man of her dreams. Even better, she’d be getting paid money to do so. After today, Hermione would have Draco Malfoy well and truly out of her system and she’d be able to move onto other projects in her life. What was there not to be happy about? Hermione didn’t even flinch or tut when the tube got delayed, instead, taking that extra time to fit in some more pages of her book. 

Draco’s lean figure wasn’t wandering about outside, on the street, when Hermione happened upon their meeting spot. Today, at least, she was the one who was early. Heading inside, Hermione placed an order for two takeaway cups of tea – both with milk, but only one with sugar. While standing off to one side, waiting patiently for the barista to call her name, Hermione quickly typed out a text to Draco. Simply telling him she had arrived at their designated spot, and would wait outside for him. 

“Two teas for Hermione!” The short haired barista called out. “The one with the sugar is marked,” she added, as Hermione picked up each drink in her hand. 

Hermione gave the woman a broad smile, knowing full well how far a smile meant when you worked in customer service. “Thank you so much. Have a lovely day.” 

Both hands full, Hermione didn’t question how on earth she was going to open the door. Thankfully, she didn’t have to dwell on it for too long. A long arm held the door ajar. Hermione ducked underneath the gentleman’s arm, and looked upwards to search for his face and say her polite thank yous. 

Draco’s angular face peered back at her. 

“Extra thirsty, Granger? Or just couldn’t decide between the two?”

Hermione rolled her eyes, holding Draco’s takeaway cup with a marking of the letter ‘s’ on the side, out and away from her body. “It’s yours silly, I bought it for you.” 

Draco blinked owlishly before taking the offered drink. His fingers skimmed Hermione’s, and she jolted at how cold they felt. “Thank you. Did you get it with…?”

“With one sugar, yes,” Hermione confirmed. 

Draco pressed his lips to the small opening on the top of the cup and took a tiny sip. 

“Good?” Hermione asked, moving out of the way to let somebody else enter the café. 

“Perfect. Are you ready to go?” 

With a nod, Hermione followed Draco as they walked towards Kensington High Street underground station. Together, the two of them scanned their oyster cards, and waited side by side in the drafty corridor for the district line tube carriages to arrive. 

Ever the gentleman, Draco let Hermione board the tube first. She wouldn’t at all be surprised to learn he’d done it, not out of good manners, but simply so he could ogle her arse undetected. 

“There’s no real point sitting down,” Draco said, as Hermione surged forward to claim two seats. “We’ll be getting off at the next stop.” 

“Oh,” Hermione nodded along, as if she had any clue what Draco was on about. She wasn’t exactly familiar with the tube lines this side of the water, but the next stop along from Kensington would be… well, if her memory served her correctly it would be Notting Hill Gate Station. 

Notting Hill. A fitting place for a man like Draco Malfoy to reside.

Taking Draco’s advice, rather than sitting, Hermione wrapped her arms around one of the blue poles to steady herself. While Draco reached upwards, choosing to hold onto one of the many overhead handles. 

“Too short to reach, Granger?” He whispered in her ear, pressing his chest until it bumped up against Hermione’s back. 

He was entirely too close for his own good. Two in the afternoon on a boring old Tuesday was certainly nowhere near peak times for the tube. This meant the carriage was mainly empty, except for a small handful of other passengers. With that amount of space, Draco had no need to be pressing up against Hermione’s body the way he was. Hermione couldn’t say she was mad about it, though. 

His body being in such close proximity to hers, also meant Hermione’s bony elbow easily hit its target, as she gave him a shove for being so god damn cheeky. Draco chuckled darkly, as if Hermione’s little elbow was going to stop him for riling her up to get a reaction.

The tube moved away from the platform with a heavy lurch. Hermione’s arse nudged against Draco’s thigh as her petite body swayed with the movement. 

The puff of Draco’s breath met Hermione’s ear before he spoke. “I wonder what you’ve got hidden under your coat, this time around?” A light trail of his fingertip down the side of her exposed neck, stopping at the collar of her coat, made Hermione shiver. She didn’t dare trust herself to twist around to look at him face to face. 

“Something to torture you with, of course.” Hermione said instead, steadily keeping her gaze on a “Smoking Kills” poster. 

Draco’s low groan rumbled through Hermione as he pressed his lips to a soft spot underneath her ear. His right hand, dangling down by his side, moved to grip Hermione’s hip through her layers of clothing. Draco uttered nothing else, so taking his heed, neither did Hermione. 

Looking around, Hermione took stock of the other passengers. Two elderly gentlemen sat with their arms spread wide, flicking through the events in the daily newspaper. A middle aged woman sat reading her book, eyes trained to the page and not even noticing that her small child was climbing up and down on the hard seats. A pair of teenagers sat huddled together, knees knocking and their mouths moving at a rapid pace as they gossiped. All these people, going about their daily, everyday lives and yet were all none the wiser about what she and Draco were about to do. Well… she hoped they were none the wiser. 

Draco’s hand squeezed the flesh of her hip to get her attention away from daydreaming and people watching. “Doors opening,” the overhead tannoy voice announced, and Draco and Hermione hopped off, minding the step and landing safely on the platform. 

“I live just a couple of minutes walk from here,” Draco said as they walked up the concrete stairs and back into the fresh air. Hermione nodded silently, blinking hard as her eyes adjusted to being surrounded by natural light rather than the florescent lights of the underground station. 

The two of them passed by a familiar street, busy with the hustle and bustle of people, and Hermione let out a little gasp of excitement as she realised what it was. “Notting Hill market!”

“Yeah,” Draco smiled, watching Hermione’s face light up as she glanced quickly at the stalls nearest to her. “Haven’t you been before?”

“Twice,” Hermione answered. “And I loved it both times, but I’m never usually on this side of London, so I don’t get to mosey around often.” 

“Saturday’s their main day, so that’s usually the best day to come and have a look round.” Draco explained. “You’ll have to let me know when you’re next free on a Saturday and I’ll show you around all the best stalls.” 

Hermione turned to attention to Draco, his offer sinking in. He wanted to show her around all the best spots on a Saturday? Was it just Hermione, or did that sound oddly like a date? 

Hermione painted on a broad smile, hopefully hiding her shock at his offer. “I’d love that. Thank you.”

\--- 

Deep down, Hermione knew Draco came from money. He’d never said anything of the sort, but Hermione could just tell. It exuded from his pores without him even having to try. But nothing could prepare her for his home.

The building itself had two doormen standing outside. They welcomed Draco on a first named basis, introduced themselves to Hermione and held the door open for her as she slid inside. Another gentlemen manning the front desk said his hello’s, sending a large smile Hermione’s way. Draco led Hermione towards a glass lift – a lift! Hermione’s block of flats was just levels of torturous stairs. 

His hand swiped a small white card through the designated slot in the wall, until the buttons lit up, and then he jammed his finger against the topmost silver button labeled P. The doors glided smoothly shut as the lift began to move upwards. Hermione kept her gaze trained towards the doors, one hand death gripping the handle of her tote bag as attempted to calm her new knot of nerves. The shiny letter P on the lift button could mean only one thing - Penthouse. 

Hermione felt ill with nerves, thinking about how posh and rich Draco’s flat was going to turn out to be. Well… the penthouse couldn’t even be classed as a flat, it was probably going to be more like a… a… Hermione didn’t even have anything to compare it to. 

“You all right? You’ve gone very quiet?” Draco asked, his voice loud sounding in the glass box. 

“You didn’t tell me you lived in the penthouse suit,” Hermione shot back, glaring at Draco’s unbothered expression. 

He shrugged. “It isn’t that big of a deal.”

“Not that big of a deal?” Hermione gawped. “It’s a huge deal. Its…” 

The doors opened, and Hermione lost all train of thought or conversation. The lift opened right out in what must be Draco’s living room. A black leather sofa, glass coffee table and flat screen tv, dominated most of the space. High ceilings and big windows meant the whole area was bright and airy feeling. 

“Would you like something to eat before we start?” Draco kicked his shoes off against the shoe rack hidden away in the corner and moved towards the open plan kitchen area. 

“No… no, thank you.” Hermione followed suit, neatly placed her flat ballet shoes beside Draco’s much larger trainers. Next up was the business of disrobing her coat. Draco hadn’t worn a coat outside, but Hermione had to fiddle with hers, finally tugging it away from her body. Standing up on her tiptoes, Hermione hung her coat up on one of the designated pegs, dusting a few invisible flecks of dust off of it as Draco whistled low in his throat. 

He stood, his palms flat against the granite counter, staring at Hermione’s actions. “You look good enough to eat, Granger. Are you going to taste as sweet as you look? Hm, angel?”

How on earth was Hermione supposed to answer that? She settled for gulping dryly and holding his gaze for a second too long, before moving her attention back to his home. 

Hermione bent down to look at a photograph, sitting on the coffee table, more clearly. “Did you live here before you moved to France?” 

“Yes, for a few months. Why?” 

“Hm.” Hermione hummed. “No reason.” 

Draco turned on his heel and stood at the end of the corridor. He tilted his head behind himself. “My filming room’s this way.” 

Hermione’s bare feet slapped against the hardwood floor as she followed behind Draco. No matter how long Draco had lived in his penthouse for, whether it had been a few months or a few weeks… It occurred to Hermione just how bare and empty the white washed walls were. 

The black, grey and white scheme of Draco’s penthouse continued throughout, as they passed closed door after closed door. In the end, Hermione stopped outside of one of them and pointed towards it. 

“What’s in there?” 

Draco glanced at the door and then at Hermione. “My bedroom.”

“Your bedroom? Isn’t that where we’re filming?” 

Draco shook his head. “My bedroom’s private. I film all of my scenes in my filming room. Don’t worry, it has a comfortable bed and a bathroom for you to use.” 

How peculiar. None of the other creators Hermione had met or worked with had ever mentioned a separate filming space. Hermione supposed it wasn’t such a terrible idea, especially if you were uptight about your privacy, but still. A tad bit strange in the grand scheme of things. 

Hermione walked into the only open doorway, right at the very end of the corridor. The room was standard sized. A king sized bed sat up against one wall, with a camera and tripod set facing it and another door led off towards an en suite bathroom. No matter how large Hermione had thought the room to be, when Draco shut the door with a snick, it felt exponentially smaller. 

Draco walked around to the side of the bed, where Hermione peered out of the window, entranced by the sight of the London landscape from high above. “It’s a special view, isn’t it?” 

Hermione jerked her head, never taking her eyes off the sight of the grey Thames as it swirled and sloshed downwards. “I hate to admit it, but it’s probably one of the best I’ve ever seen.”

Draco chucked quietly. “Yeah, I waste a lot of hours staring outside of these windows. More than I would like to admit.” He reached his hand out, fingers grazing the coarse material of Hermione’s tote bag strap as it sat on her shoulder. “Is anything important in here?”

“Huh…?” Hermione said, too focused on the teeny tiny people walking down below. “Oh, no, there’s not. Makeup, perfume and my purse mainly.” 

Draco’s forefinger slipped under one of the straps and pulled it down Hermione arm. Hermione felt her chest rise and fall faster, brushing against his shoulder, as his simple and totally normal action made her skin burn.

“I’ll put it in the bathroom for you. And then we can get started, all right?” Draco’s voice had taken on a calming lull, almost as if he were speaking to a cornered animal. Hermione stood in the same spot, following Draco’s movements as he tilted the polished silver door handle down and the bathroom door swung open. Hermione got a glimpse of a standard bathroom, toilet in one corner, with a frosted window above it, and a white counter with presumably the sink built into it – before Draco dropped off her belongings and closed the door again. 

“You promise you’re all right?” Draco sat on the edge of the bed and patted the empty space beside himself, looking up at Hermione expectantly. 

Uncrossing her arms from over her bust, Hermione sat timidly next to Draco. The nerves she’d been trying to ignore all morning were back now, with full force. Level headedly; Hermione knew she was nervous because she was about to dip her toe into the unexpected. Never before had she filmed dominant and submissive themes with _anybody_. What would it be like? Would she like it or not? And what happened if she didn’t like it? 

Draco’s large hand, landing on the top of her thigh, stopped Hermione’s thoughts from spiraling even further. “I’m not going to do anything you don’t want to, Hermione. I’m not going to hurt you… well, unless you ask for it, of course.” 

Hermione pushed a forced laugh through her trembling lips. 

“I’m being serious.” Draco’s pinky finger traced circles in Hermione bare inner thigh. “Have you thought about what safe word you want?” 

Hermione uttered the first strange word that came to the front of her mind. “Mermaid.” 

“Okay,” Draco smiled widely. “Mermaid it is.” 

Hermione shot him a dirty sideway look. “You’re laughing at me.” 

He held the hand not resting on her thigh up in mock surrender. “I’m not, I swear. If that’s your safe word, then that’s your safe word.” Draco bit down on his lip and then spoke again. “I thought we could start with the blowjob first, if that’s okay?” 

_Here goes nothing._

“Okay,” Hermione agreed, making Draco break out into another beaming smile. “How do you want me?” 

Draco stood up; sending Hermione what could only be described as a feral grin, at her question, and walked over to where the tripod and camera sat. 

“Everything off, except your knickers. And down on your knees for me.” 

With precise movements, Hermione unbuttoned her knit top and stepped out of her skirt. Turning around with her bundle of clothes close to her chest, Hermione noticed Draco had also stripped off his clothes, leaving him in just a pair of black boxer briefs. A figure hugging pair, which, did nothing to hide the bulge already half hard and contained inside. His body was mouthwateringly fit. A lean cut body accentuated by his smooth alabaster skin. Hermione wanted to dip the tip of her tongue into the hollow of his clavicle and the grooves of his abdomen.

“Just drop them on the floor,” Draco said, coming up behind Hermione and moving her hair gently over to one shoulder. She could feel the heat of his chest radiating against her back. The definition of his abs, Adonis belt and cock hard against Hermione’s soft contours. With her thick mane of hair out of the way, Draco could focus on unclasping Hermione’s lacy black bra, and tracing her protruding shoulder blades. 

Hermione did as Draco asked, dropping her clothes into a pile on the floor. She straightened up as Draco laved wet kisses along her neck, the dusting of freckles and moles on her shoulders. Was this all apart of the scene, to be included in Draco’s latest video? Or were they just for his own, personal benefit? 

Hermione wasn’t sure. 

Using nimble fingers, Hermione felt Draco undo her bra, the cups getting looser around her breasts, and the straps falling down her arms. It, too, fell to the floor in a delicate heap. 

Both of Draco’s hands grasped Hermione’s free breasts, squeezing and massaging her sensitive skin until Hermione let out a dreamy sigh. A flood of arousal filled Hermione’s cunt, a subtle and well familiar ache beginning to take place. 

“Are they real?” Draco whispered, groping the flesh of her right breast, while he pinched the nipple of her left, watching to see her nipple become darker in colour. 

“Hm?” Hermione sighed, head in the clouds. Sometime in between her bra coming off, and his question, Draco had shoved his bare knee between Hermione’s legs. She ground down on him, glad for the welcome friction and a way to alleviate the growing pressure in her cunt. 

“Your tits. Are they real?” Draco asked again. 

Over her shoulder, Draco lifted one of Hermione’s breasts and bent his head at the same time, making it possible for him to take a nipple in his warm mouth. Hermione sighed, louder this time, more of a moan than a sigh, and threaded her left hand through Draco’s glossy blonde locks. 

“Yes, they’re real.” 

Draco groaned against Hermione’s soft skin. “Ugh… you’re going to kill me, Granger. These tits of yours are something else.” 

Happy in her own little horny bubble, Hermione didn’t realize Draco had taken ahold of her hair into a makeshift ponytail, until he pushed her head down. A tiny bit of force sat in his fingers as he did so, but Hermione guessed it was only an ounce of what he usually possessed. 

“Get on your knees for me, angel.” 

God, that _voice._

That _tone._

That _nickname._

Hermione’s eyes rolled into the back of her head, and Draco hadn’t even touched her properly yet. 

Still keeping a tight hold of her hair, Draco walked around until he stood looking down at Hermione. “Be a good girl for me and take off my boxers.” 

Reaching upwards, Hermione hooked both of her index fingers into the elastic waistband of his underwear, and tugged down. Draco’s cock bobbed, pointing straight out and looking so hard it would combust at any given second. He was big. Not the biggest Hermione had ever been with. That award went to Blaise, but Draco wasn’t far off his best friend. Hermione guessed there was perhaps only half an inch, or an inch, in it. 

“Now, be the good little slut I know you can be, angel, and suck my cock the way I like it.”

Hermione’s breath hitched at Draco’s words. They washed over her, but instead of making Hermione feel wrong or dirty, they made her cunt walls pulse even more. She wanted to please Draco; she wanted desperately for him to stroke her hair again and praise her. 

Hermione’s right hand grasped the base of Draco’s cock, thumb and middle finger close to touching but not quite, in an effort to steady him, as she pressed the tip of her tongue to his slit to taste the precome glossing the head. Draco hissed through his teeth at the first contact of Hermione’s wet tongue, teasing one of the most sensitive parts of his body. 

Sticking her tongue out as far as it would go, Hermione rested Draco on the flat of her tongue. Letting herself get used to the taste of him, the heat from his cock and the heady weight of the act. Hermione might have been down on her knees, sharp teeth dangerously close to Draco’s favourite body part, but even then, she knew she definitely wasn’t the one in charge. Looking up at Draco, her eyes wide and mouth split open, Hermione stayed still for a moment, letting Draco also get used to her. 

He stared down at her, silently, not giving away any of his thoughts or feelings. 

After meeting up with Draco in the café last week, Hermione had rushed home and began her research into the world of BDSM. She’d seen some things, which made her face scrunch up in disinterest. And other things, which had her core tingling and two bright red circles appearing on the apples of her cheeks. 

Hermione was acutely aware that by no means did she have the upper hand. But she knew enough to realize Draco’s power play was occurring. His burning stare and grip of her hair, challenged Hermione to either disobey him or try and surprise him. 

A twisted part of Hermione was eager to try both, separately, and note down the reaction for the future. 

_The future?_ – Hermione’s logical side of her brain, (which had been clouded in judgement recently and taken over by the devil on her shoulder) screamed loudly.

_What future? The future wasn’t in the cards, nor should it ever be uttered. After their scenes were filmed, Draco and herself would go their separate ways, no ifs or buts about it._

As if sensing Hermione’s brain had gone well off track, Draco cradled the back of Hermione’s skull with the palm of his hand and pushed her head further into his body. Making her tongue slip and his cock disappear a couple more inches into Hermione’s mouth. 

“Further, angel.” How did Draco manage to keep his voice so unaffected? 

Hermione reinforced her efforts, determined to make Draco crack one way or another. Tightening her hold, Hermione smoothed back Draco’s foreskin, and wiggled her tongue into his frenulum. Her left hand joined her right, both wrists twisting inwards and outwards to cause extra friction. From above, Draco groaned, his first sign of being affected. The low, animalistic sound sent shooting sparks down Hermione’s body, heating up her skin until she tingled, uncontrollably, all over. 

Sucking hard on the head of Draco’s cock, Hermione tried a different tactic, to see the results. Relaxing her throat as much as she thought achievable, Hermione sucked, licked and swallowed Draco noisily. Taking pains for the mixture of her saliva and his precome, to be as wet and as messy, as possible. 

Whether Draco let it escape on purpose, or he just couldn’t hold back any longer, Hermione realised the louder she was, the louder Draco became. Her kitten like moans vibrated through Draco, his grip tightening almost pins and needles like, on Hermione’s scalp and his cock pulsing in time with his heartbeats. 

From previous experience, Hermione guessed Draco wasn’t too far off from orgasming on the spot. And she would have been right.

“Swallow me down, angel. Want me to come down your throat? Or decorate your pretty face in my seed? Hm? Tell me.” 

It sounded rather like a trick question. 

Hermione stuck to bobbing her head continually, creating suction with her mouth and fluttering her long eyelashes in answer. 

Apparently, that wasn’t what Draco wanted. He actually did want a verbal reply. 

He pulled hard enough for his manhood to drop out of Hermione’s wet hole. Her hands dropped into her lap. A string of saliva still connected Hermione to Draco’s mushroom shaped head, but she didn’t use the back of her hand to wipe it away. Rather, she licked her lips, breaking the connection and tasting salt.

“Tell me! Use your big girl words, otherwise you’ll get punished.”

“On my… on my face, sir.” 

_Sir?! Where the fuck had that come from? And why did Draco look extremely happy with his new title?_

“See? I knew you could say the dirty words, angel. Such a good girl for me, and good girls get rewards, don’t they? How about I let you close your eyes, so you don’t get any jizz in them and make them sting?” 

Hermione nodded her head quickly, happy with Draco’s reward. Everybody in the business knew how much of a killer it was to get come in your eyeball, like getting pink eye, but worse. Thankfully, Draco had given Hermione a way out, without completely ruining the moment. 

“Tilt your head back, close your eyes and stick your tongue out for me.” Draco commanded, his left hand taking up where Hermione had left off. 

Draco wanked himself off in well practiced motions. The pad of his thumb grazing over his cock head and glans, before gliding back down his own shaft and twisting his wrist at the base. 

With her eyes closed, the rest of Hermione’s four senses were heightened. She could sense Draco’s looming presence right in front of her, taste the unique salty flavour of Draco still lingering on her tongue and hear his movements of rough skin from the palm of his hand, greet the softer skin of his shaft. 

The bedroom became filled with the sounds of Draco’s pants and groans, some intermingled with words or phrases that Hermione couldn’t catch, no matter how hard she strained her ears. 

A soft guttural groan of her name, “Hermione.” Followed by a profanity, “fuck…” was her only warning before a warm splat of liquid met her forehead. Hermione had a split second of feeling it tickle the bridge of her nose as it trickled down, before rope after rope landed on her eyelids, cheeks and even her chin. 

She thought Draco had missed her open mouth by accident, but Hermione was fast learning Draco didn’t do anything by accident. Instead, he let his cock lie heavy on Hermione’s tongue, until she closed her plush lips around it un-subconsciously. Getting softer by the second, Hermione didn’t suck him, choosing to lave her tongue around and clean Draco off. 

“Don’t.” Draco warned, seeing Hermione’s eyes flutter in a want to open. He’d moved, still staying close, but enough for Hermione to realize they were no longer filming. During the editing process, the video would but cut off by now, the act of the blowjob finished and over with. 

Draco’s hand gently pushed Hermione’s away from her face, attempting to get rid of any strands stuck to her cheeks. His touch was soothing, but not enough to calm the furnace burning through every part of Hermione. 

“You did really well,” he praised. “I’m proud of you. Keep your eyes closed, and stay still. I’m just going to get something to clean you off.” 

“Okay,” Hermione whispered, intently following the sounds of Draco’s actions. She heard his feet patter across the floor, the bathroom door squeak open, a cupboard shut close with a _thud_ and the water tap be turned on and off. 

Draco returned to her side. Hermione smelt his aftershave and deodorant before she felt his caress. His hand curled around the nape of her neck to keep her head as still as possible. Hermione flinched a tad as a warm towel wiped from right to left, across her forehead. Draco worked carefully around the thin skin of her eyes, moving down to her cheeks and finally a small spot on the left hand side of her chin. 

“There you go. Try to open your eyes.” 

With caution, Hermione cracked apart her eyelids. She blinked three times, checking for any blurriness across her vision, any stinging or anything caught in her eyelashes. 

“You okay?” Draco’s figure hovered above her; still naked as the day he was born and bent at the waist to get a closer look at Hermione’s face. 

Hermione squinted one eye, irritated by something white caught on the edge of her lash line. “There’s something caught in my eyelashes. Could you get it for me?” 

Draco’s eyes scanned her face, searching Hermione’s eyelashes for the issue. “Ah,” he said, thumb and forefinger moving into a pinching motion. “It’s a bit off fluff from the washcloth caught. Stay very still, so I don’t poke you in the eye.” 

Cautiously, Draco’s fingers pinched, coming away with a speck of something white on the tip and showcasing it to Hermione. “All sorted. Better?”

Hermione blinked again, happy to find Draco had easily fixed her issue. “Yes, perfect. Thank you.” 

Draco just smiled in answer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Saturday all!
> 
> As always, let me know what you thought in the comments or over on my tumblr - comments and kudos really do brighten my day and encourage me to write more :) 
> 
> xx

**Author's Note:**

> Hello!
> 
> This is my newest work (i'm actually super nervous about posting lol), so i hope you'll be kind. 
> 
> I'm cross posting this work on wattpad my username is E-S-Clark if you'd rather read it there. I'm most frequent on my tumblr 'treasurethelittlethings' if you'd like to follow me and get snippets and updates. 
> 
> Come and tell me what you thought! x


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